


You Know You Want To

by Seidrwriter



Category: Ragnars saga loðbrókar | Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, International Fanworks Day 2021
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 35,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seidrwriter/pseuds/Seidrwriter
Summary: Ragnar takes a thrall in this AU mashup of the sagas and the show, Vikings.Will he be able to tame the wild woman or get more than he bargained for?
Relationships: Ragnar and OC
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	1. Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

> Editing the current historical novel and dealing with some family issues pulled me away from Ragnar and Signy's sorry to the punt that I am out of chapters right now.
> 
> I will continue to add to this but it may be a few days.

Ragnar kicked the door open to throw the struggling woman atop the nearest bed.

She spit at him, cursed and rushed him.

With a laugh, he batted away her attack. “Spirit,” he approved, batting her once more when she rose to attack again.

“Give me a chance and I will put a dagger in your heart, you bastard.”

The door slammed open once more, and for a moment Ragnar’s attention diverted.

Too long, he mused as the little vixen threw herself atop him, unbalancing him.

He grabbed her as he fell, turning so that he fell atop her. Her breath escaped in a rush and an oof that made him laugh again.

“She’s not worth the trouble, brother.”

Rollo dumped another woman onto the floor. She curled into herself, her bound hands before her.

“And that meek thing is?”

He put his arm across the still struggling one beneath him.

“Stop it,” he told her, voice soft. “Before you get hurt.”

She spit at him again.

His brow rose and he wiped the spittle from his cheek with two fingers.

“You are feisty.”

He grabbed her chin, strong fingers digging into her soft flesh until her mouth opened. He spit on her tongue, then thrust his palm beneath her chin until her teeth met.

“Swallow.”

She shook her head, eyes aflame with anger.

He shook her head for her. “Swallow.” He pinched her nose closed, hand atop her lips. “You will eventually and perhaps will know better next time.”

He waited through the struggle, her body firmly caged beneath his, her air cut off.

The fire in her eyes turned to fear as he waited her out, as her breath wore out.

“Swallow,” he whispered against her cheek. “Or die.”

Her throat convulsed and he removed his hand from her face.

She gagged and gasped air.

“Stop trying to kill me.”

Rollo, having watched this little power play, sat down, feet planted on either side of the cowering woman.

“Who is she? Who are you?”

Ragnar watched as her eyes shifted from him to his brother.

She snarled and he smacked her across the mouth. “Be nice,”

Her gaze returned to him, murder in those deep blue eyes. “Go fuck yourself.”

The laugh was out of him instantly. “Perhaps you will yet get the chance, vixen. My brother asked you a question.”

He put his hand to her forehead to force her to look up at Rollo again.

“Signy,” she hissed.

“This is Signy, brother.” Ragnar smirked down at her. “Such a vixen. Where did you get such spirit, I wonder?”

“My gods,”

His brows flew up this time. “Your gods? Who are your gods?”

“She is evil, lord,”

Ragnar’s gaze went to the cowering woman still between Rollo’s feet. “She dresses like you,” he pointed out, fingers plucking at Signy’s robes.

“Her people do not accept God.” Her eyes rolled, putting Ragnar in mind of a frightened cow. “Like you,”

He looked down at Signy. “Is that so? Well, now I understand your spirit, vixen. I am going to rise and you are not going to attack me again or I will string you up from the rafters by your tits, clear?”

She tensed beneath him as if preparing to spring. He punched her in the side of the head.

He rose, put one foot across her throat. “The others?”

“Mostly dead,” Rollo shrugged. “Floki found a plaything, not sure she still lives.”

“Well then. Have whichever women may yet survive brought to the long house. They will make decent thralls.”

He clucked his tongue when Signy tried to squirm loose. “I’ve got to teach this one a lesson.”

“Just slice her throat and be done. She’s trouble, Ragnar.”

“She has uses.”

Rollo sighed. “You will never learn,” he proclaimed as he bent to lift the other woman across his shoulder once more. “One of these days one of these bitches you seem to like so much will do you harm.”

Ragnar grinned. “But it is so much fun until they do.”

Rollo shook his head. “Will you be joining us?”

“Yes. Soon.”


	2. A cocky woman

Once Rollo was gone, Ragnar took his foot off Signy’s throat. She coughed as she rubbed her neck.

“Well,” he sat at the table to pour a cup of ale. “Are you thirsty?”

She blinked at him. “You mean to have me drink myself to death?”

He shrugged. “It’s one way to die. Is it the way you would choose?”

She sat up, eyes watching him warily. When he didn’t move, she climbed unsteadily to her feet, her hand to her temple.

“Hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Stop fighting and you won’t be hurt more.”

“How very generous,”

He smirked at her, gestured to the other chair with his cup. “Sit.”

She glanced at the door, he saw her calculate the chances, then she took the other chair. He pushed a full cup to her.

“Drink.”

“You are Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Mm, I am.”

She sipped the ale. “The cloistered women feared you.”

“As they should.”

“They had nothing you could use.”

“They have bodies. Bodies are always useful.”

She blinked at him again, then tipped the cup back and drained it.

He laughed and poured it full for her.

“You like their fear.”

“It means I am doing well,”

She made a face, nose wrinkled. “Doing well? Raping them? Killing them? For what? So you may sell a few into servitude to your men? It is cowardice to attack helpless women who fear men.”

“You do not fear men.”

“I am not one of them. You heard so already.”

“No,” he smiled at her. “You are not. You hate me but you do not fear me.”

“I see nothing worth fearing in you.”

He rose to lean across the table until they were nose-to-nose. “I could give you something to fear. How would that be, vixen?”

She stared at him. This close, her eyes held gold flecks within the blue.

“I do not fear rape, Ragnar Lothbrok. Nor do I fear your cock. I will rip it off should you try that with me.”

He inclined his head to the side. “I do not doubt but that you would try.”

“Your brother will rape that girl.”

He shrugged. “That is not up to me.”

“He will hurt her.”

“Life is full of pain, vixen.”

“I have a name.”

“And I chose not to use it.”

She huffed out a breath and leaned back from him. “You smell like a pig sty.”

“Hm.” He sat back to watch her, fingers toying with his empty cup.

She watched this a moment, then huffed another breath and grabbed the pitcher of ale, batted his hand away from his cup and refilled it.

He grinned.

“What you expected?”

“Nothing is yet what I expect with you.”

“Because you have no idea how to treat women. You are a pig and a coward.”

“And I smell,” he reminded her. “And you talk too much.”

She took a drink of her ale, her gaze roamed the room as she did.

“You’ve no woman.”

“My wife is dead.”

“Children?”

“Yes. Two.”

She shook her head. “Too bad.”

He laughed. “Which part?”

She shrugged. “You have a girl.”

He allowed that with a lift of his brow.

“It is why this place is not a worse wreck.”

He snorted into his cup. “I suppose I ought to keep a thrall around to fuck and clean for me.”

Her gaze returned to him and she frowned. “A threat?”

“An eventuality.”

Now it was her turn to snort. “I will tear your cock off.”

“You might try.”

Her eyes lit with fire. “You will not keep me.”

“You have little choice in the matter, vixen. For you see,” he gestured around them. “I already have.”

“I will slice your throat while you sleep.”

He rose to grab a handful of her hair and pulled her to her feet. “Then I will just have to keep you chained to my bed to ensure that you do not.”

He shoved her forward. She sprawled on the floor on her hands and knees.

“Fetch water. Heat it. Fill the tub.”

Her head rose and she glared at him through her hair. “You will still smell. Nothing could wear the stink off of you.”

He put his foot beneath her chin and tipped her over. “You will wash me. Perhaps then you will have no reason to think I smell.”

And with that, he pushed a bucket into her hands and pointed her toward the door.

“You will not escape. Do not try.”

Her heard her growl as she slammed open the door. He waited until he heard the bucket drop into the well, then rose to lift the wooden tub from the wall and place it before the fire.

She returned with water and he gestured to the heavy cauldron that hung over the fire.

“Fill it,”

She sighed but dumped the water into the cauldron.

“Be quick about it, vixen.”

He smacked her ass on her way past. She hesitated between steps, apparently thought better of attacking him once more and slammed out the door for more water.

He chuckled. Yes, she would not tame easily. But he liked a challenge, unlike Rollo who preferred women who were mild and afraid.

He watched her fill the cauldron a dozen or more times. Only after it was apparent she was going to actually do it, did he grab a bucket and help.

She didn’t speak when he appeared at the well, merely nodded as she passed with her full bucket.

Finally, the cauldron was full. She sat at the table to wipe her forehead.

“Fill the tub.”

“I will,” she bared her teeth at him. “Fucking men,”

He grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. “Show respect.” He pinched her lips hard.

“Ow, fuck!” She drew back, hands raised to ward him off.

He dropped his head to one side to see what she would do. She shook her head.

“Not worth it,” she muttered.

He let her go and she started to take buckets of hot water from the cauldron to pour into the tub.

The tub full, she made an exaggerated bow his way.

“Your bath awaits, pig lord.”

He crossed the room in two steps. “Undress me.”

Her mouth actually fell open. Amused, he drew her closer. She went until they were hardly a handbreadth apart.

“Undress me,”

Her gaze never left his as she lifted her hands to the tie of his tunic. He smirked, then let her pull it over his head, baring his upper body to her.

She shook her head at his grin, then dropped her hands to his trousers to yank the tie loose and shove the fabric apart, baring his belly.

“I would cut you here,” she mused, dragging a finger across the lowest part of exposed skin where the hair disappeared into his trousers.

He jerked at the touch. “Hurry before the water grows cold and I make you do it all again.”

A noise between a snarl and a laugh escaped her. She grasped the trousers at either hip and yanked them down to his knees.

“Don’t think of it,” he reminded her before she could move.

She knelt and tugged the boot off his raised foot, then the other when he lifted it to her.

“You must sit or I will knock you down.”

He sat on the edge of a chair and she pulled the trousers off his legs.

He nodded at her. “Now you.”

“What?” She looked flabbergasted. “I will not.”

He stepped into the tub. “You will or I will do it for you.”

“I, you cannot be serious.”

“No?” He grabbed the hem of her robe and yanked her to himself. One arm around her waist, he grasped the collar of the robe and ripped it in half to her belly. “Off. Now.”

She let the ruined robe drop to the floor, then turned to face him.

He smiled at her. “Not so bad, hm?”

“You are such a bastard.”

He shrugged at her as he settled into the water with a groan. “I think you could grow to like it, vixen.”

“I will never like you.”

He curled one finger at her. “In.”

“Oh fuck,” she muttered as she stepped into the water across from him.

“Sit.”

The water closed over her hips. Then she was facing him, her murderous gaze on his.

“Now that isn’t so bad.”

“So you keep telling me.”

He laughed. “At least I have not yet raped you, vixen. More, I think, than your sisters can say.”

“Those that still live?” She scoffed. “They would prefer death, pig.”

“Come now, I have been kind. You ought to be kind as well.”

She threw her hands up, water droplets splattering him in the face. He grinned at her.

“What is it that you want me to say? Thank you for not killing me? Raping me?”

“A good start,” he conceded.

She rolled her eyes so far that he saw white a moment.

“Thank you, Ragnar Lothbrok, for pillaging the cloister not so many days past and stealing me away from certain death by boredom.”

“You are glad to be gone,” he mused as he settled against the wall of the tub. “You just do not know how to go about being appreciative.”

“This is not better than that,” she pointed out.

“It is far better than the alternative, do you not agree?”

He flipped his fingers in the water, splashing her.

“The alternative is death.”

He nodded. “And is this not better?” He tossed a hunk of soap at her. “Wash me.”

“Oh what ever in the gods names?” She grabbed the soap at it’s highest apex, then made a motion at him. “Turn.”

He spun to present his back to her. There was a pause and then her warm hands were on his shoulders. He let out a sigh and relaxed beneath her ministrations.

She breathed at his ear, suddenly close, then her hands were locked before his throat.

“I ought to kill you,”

“Then do it.”

She tightened her grip and he leaned his head back to keep her from stealing his breath.

“A knife would end you here and now, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“There are many nearby,”

She shoved him away and he slid beneath the water. She yelped when he grabbed her and pulled her beneath the water. He felt her struggle and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her beneath the water, shoving her head into his crotch.

Then she was up, sputtering water and cursing him. She threw herself at him, anger overcoming good sense. He grabbed her in a bear hug so that should could do no more than scratch ineffectively at his chest as she fought.

“Signy.”

“Bastard!” Her teeth snapped close to his nose.

He drew back to pull her tighter, forcing her to stillness against him.

Her breathing matched his as she gasped and snarled in his arms. He spun her so that she was sitting atop him, helpless and no longer able to fight.

“Signy. Stop this.” He shook her, groaned when her body slipped across his and his cock came to rest against the split of her thighs.

She howled in frustration and struggled.

There was no avoiding the contact and he was hard instantly. He grabbed her tighter to still her.

“Stop this. I will fuck you if you do not.”

That did it. She stopped struggling.

“Odin, but you are a difficult woman,” he breathed. “Do you want me to rape you?”

“No.”

“Then stop moving. Do you not know what it does?”

He felt her muscles relax as the fight went out of her. They sat that way, silent, each lost in thought as his erection pressed against her.

He smoothed a hand down her. “Good. Much better. You will wash me and dress me. We will go to the long house to feast. Perhaps you will not be raped yet.”


	3. And with it, death

Ragnar dug through his wife’s old clothes, still stashed in a chest at the foot of the bed. Signy was of a size to Lagertha, he figured. Perhaps a bit wider through the hips, but close enough. He settled on an outfit and turned to where Signy, naked and shivering, was chained to the bed by one ankle. He threw the bundle at her.

“This.”

“Terrific,” she muttered.

“The word you seek is thank you.”

She shot him a look as she tugged the shirt over her head. He nodded approval, then tossed a girdle at her to cinch beneath her breasts. Smooth breasts, his mind informed him. Perky and tipped in pink. He sighed, then bent to free her ankle.

“Dress. Now.”

She wasted no time in shoving her legs into the pants. Yes, definitely wider through the hips than Lagertha had been. She filled the pants out nicely. He turned away before he simply ripped them off and took her then and there.

“Shoes?”

With a sigh, he tossed boots to her. He grabbed a cup of ale while she tugged them on.

“Ragnar.”

He lifted his gaze to her over the rim of his cup.

“Thank you.”

One side of his mouth rose in a smile. “You are welcome, Signy.”

He drained the cup, then went to her, bent, clapped the iron around her ankle once more.

“In case you get any ideas.”

Her eyes widened but she said nothing.

He gave the chain a little tug. “Let’s go.”

She had no choice but to follow him or he would simply drag her. He thought she knew it.

The long house was already hot; men well on their way to drunk, women atop their men, their own drinks in hand. He heard Signy catch her breath as she took in the scene. Perhaps it was the woman hanging by her wrists from the rafters, naked save a fur that did nothing to cover her body that so captivated her and held her attention.

“Sister Elizabeth,” she whispered.

He glanced at her. “It is better not to look.”

“Easy to say,” she murmured. “Hard to unsee.”

He nodded. He could understand the sentiment.

She turned her gaze away as he tugged her to his side. He followed where she looked to find her eyes on Rollo and the timid woman from before.

“Her name?”

“Mathilda,”

“She is a friend?”

Signy nodded. “She was kind to me where others were not.”

“Rollo will have his way with her, if he has not already. I will ensure she is sold instead of having her throat slit.”

“For what?” She looked up at him. “This is hell to her. Why make her suffer?”

He studied her, then handed her a knife. “If it matters that much, you kill her. It will be to send her to her god, yes?”

She stared at the finely wrought knife he offered. The handle was meant for a woman’s hand, wrought of a single piece of bone, the edge of the blade honed to a sharpness that would cut most anything. She thumbed the handle, seemingly deep in thought.

He gestured with it. “Go on. Take it.”

“You want me to kill her?”

He shrugged. “It is all the same to me, Signy. She is your friend. It would be a kindness.”

He canted his head back the way they’d come, reminding her without words of the woman yet hanging above them.

She touched the knife again as if sure he would turn it on her. When he did not, she took it between her fingers, grasping it as if it came naturally. He nodded to himself. Yes, there was more to her than she let on. He meant to find out what.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He nodded to her.

“Go on.”

“And if I do not?”

“She is your friend.”

Rollo had risen to wave Ragnar over, the woman lifted in one of his massive arms.

“Now is your chance,” he told her as they walked across the room and through the press of drunk men.

He walked before her, giving her his back should she wish to take the knife to him instead. She did not. Not that it surprised him at all. She was overwhelmed and as yet unsure of him, hesitant to take action in a room full of men who would kill her on the spot. Smart girl, he thought. He had her pegged, he was almost certain of it. She would fight him eventually, but not yet.

“Brother! That bitch still lives?”

Ragnar grinned widely. “She does,” he agreed, taking the seat next to Rollo. He tugged the chain and she went to his side.

Rollo laughed uproariously. “You’ve trained her already?”

Ragnar shook his head and accepted a mug from someone. “No. She would as soon see me dead as anything.” He gestured at the woman as Rollo planted her on his lap. “And her? How fares she?”

Rollo shook his head. “A poor lay, a worse cook. What is with the women on that land, Ragnar? Are they all so meek and unworthy?”

Ragnar glanced at Signy to find her staring blatantly at Rollo, mouth working over words he could guess without hearing.

He gave her another tug to draw her close. “He is my brother,” he reminded her in a soft voice directly into her ear. “You would be wise to stop that line of thought now.”

She shook herself like a dog and edged away.

Rollo gave him a look and he nodded towards the knife gripped in Signy’s left hand. Instantly Rollo leaned to him.

“What is this?” He murmured as Signy edged closer to Mathilda.

“A test.”

Rollo shook his head. “You have a strange idea about women,”

Ragnar just shrugged, a gentle smile on his mouth. “We shall see.”

Signy settled on the ground next to Rollo’s right leg. She spoke quietly to her friend.

“Ragnar, she is a thrall.”

“Wait,” he lifted his hand to stop Rollo from intervening.

“For what?”

Matilda smiled at Signy and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Signy nodded at her.

“Be at peace,” she said, the knife slipping between Matilda’s ribs easily.

Rollo jumped up, spilling the dying woman to the floor and making Signy leap to her feet.

Ragnar rose, put his arm out and Signy ran to his side.

“What the fuck, Ragnar?” Rollo kicked the dying woman away. He turned on Signy. “You. Bitch. Give me the knife.”

“It is hers. I gave it to her.”

Rollo practically choked. “You what?” He roared.

“I gave it to her. It belongs to her.”

Rollo shook his head. “You gave this bitch a knife? Have you lost your mind?”

“She did not wish to see her friend sold into the life of a thrall. It was that or death. She chose to ease her friend along to her heaven.”

Rollo gaped at Ragnar. “You, you,” he let out a deep breath. “Ragnar, you have lost your wits. May the gods help you. You’ve armed her and she will surely try to kill you next.”

He stormed off, leaving Ragnar and Signy alone.

“Sit.”

She all but fell onto the chair Rollo vacated. He knelt before her, rubbed her arms.

“Signy.”

She lifted her gaze to his.

“You made a choice. Now you must live with it.”

“She asked to die. She asked me to kill her.”

“And you chose to help her.”

She nodded, gaze moving from him to the bloody knife. He plucked it from her fingers, wiped the blade on his leg, than handed it back to her.

“You will let me keep it?”

“Choose wisely always, Signy. You may keep it but I will turn it on you should you try to use it on me.”

She blinked, a sign he was coming to understand meant she could not believe the words he was saying. Amused, he smiled at her.

“A drink?”

She nodded.


	4. Wanton sinners

He gestured for another mug as he sat once more. “Tell me, vixen. How did you come to be so good with a knife?”

He felt her turn her gaze on him again. Felt the question she did not ask. He waited, his own gaze on the violence playing out before them. Here a woman being raped, there a man, surely a priest, being held to a hot iron. And above, in the loft, he could hear rather than see, a woman gang raped by a handful of drunken warriors. The woman who had been hanging from the rafters had been dropped at some point and now lay, a broken mess in the middle of the hall. Certainly, she saw this as more proof of his cruelty.

“Before they came,” she gestured at Mathilda’s body. “The priests, I mean. Before they came, my father taught me to wield a knife.”

“What else did he teach you?”

She moved closer to him, scooting to the edge of the chair. “I was to be warrior kind. I was not oldest, not yet expected to wed and bed.”

“Yes?” He glanced at her, then back to the spectacle. “Were you? Becoming a warrior?”

“Yes.” She shook her head at him. “You do not believe me.”

“I believe you, Signy. Among my people there are women who choose to be warriors. We call them shield maidens.”

“Shield maidens?”

He shrugged and gestured her go on.

“When they came, they brought destruction. They burned our crops and killed any men who would not bow to their god. They took my sisters and I to the cloister where you found me.”

“This was long ago?”

She nodded. “I was perhaps twelve.”

He glanced at her once more. “And you are now?” A gentle prod.

She shook her head. “Twenty.”

“Twenty?” He was impressed. “They did not wed you off?”

“I was not deemed worthy to be a wife.” She shrugged. “I refused their god. I believe not the fairy tales they speak. They said no man would want a wanton sinner such as I am.”

He laughed. “I am quite certain that is not the truth, vixen.”

He caught the hint of smile that lifted her lips.

“No. It seems some men would want a woman like me very much.” She gestured outward at what they watched. “Enough to spare me other than witness this.”

He turned an apprising look on her. “And you feel what about that?”

“I still want to hurt you.”

“But not kill me?”

“Perhaps not,”

“Mm,”

She turned toward him. “And you, Ragnar? Why do you raid cloister’s on Britain’s soil?”

“It is where the silver is.”

“It is hardly the single source of wealth upon that land.”

A lift of one eyebrow and a half smile bid her go on with her thought.

“There are many kingdoms ripe for taking. They war amongst themselves with little regard for any outside attack.”

“Is this a fact?”

“It is. I have seen what your men are capable of. Why have you not sought to raid among the kingdoms at the sea's edge?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Such as those slaughtered by their Christ god? Your own home would be a target of it.”

Her lips pursed, brows drew together in a frown. “They are not my people on those shores, Ragnar. They are the ones who subjugated mine. Do not mistake me for their ilk.”

He inclined his head at that. “I shall not again.” 

She seemed satisfied with that, settled back into the chair to once more take in their surroundings.

The heat had become a palpable thing, full of the smell of sweat and sex, spilled ale and mead, soot, and the ever present tinny aroma of shed blood.

She remained impassive, face a careful blank that he thought she could achieve when unsure her place. A safe choice that would stand well for her in this world made for men. She was too mouthy, too quick to anger, too easily swayed by emotion to survive for long should she not have adequate cover for it. Rollo had the right of it, she was trouble in many ways. And yet.

He watched her watch them, wondered what thoughts she kept unspoken and unheard.

“Why do you stare at me?”

“You are here to be looked at, vixen. You would prefer I stop looking and take you?”

She shook her head. “Why have you taken no other wife?”

“There are many women to do what I need.”

“Is it all you want? The warmth of a woman’s thighs?” She shot him a look full of scorn.

He leaned back with a broad smile. “I have little need of more. With Rollo and the freemen who farm the distant fields of my lands, the thralls we keep, what other needs have I?”

She shook her head. “You are a bewildering man.”

“I am hardly confounding, Signy. My needs are few. I find those who will satisfy them,” he shrugged as he watched her.

She let her gaze scan the crowd. He saw her seeing his world as it was - men now falling down drunk and those who were not yet too drunk were quite obviously engaged in other endeavors.

“You are not like them. But they are your people.”

“I am like them. I am a Dane.”

She shook her head, her hair brushing his arm. “You are not.”

“How so?” He leaned in to her to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Tell me, vixen. What makes me different in your sight?”

She shrugged him off, but did not, he noted, move away. “You watch everything. Miss nothing that I have yet seen.” She gestured with her mug. “They fuck and ruin the spoils they brought home. They waste coin on drink. Why bother? You have not, yet at least. Or that I have seen.”

Amused, he nodded for her to go on.

“You have given me some choice in how I am treated here.”

“Perhaps because I believe you to be worth more to me the way that you are.”

“Perhaps,” she shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

He put his head on her shoulder again. “I will not hesitate to hurt you should you defy me.”

“You have said.”

“You believe me now. That’s good.”

“I think you want to fuck me. But you haven’t.”

“I very much want that.” He gave her an appraising look. “You will come to me for that in time. Not the other way round.”

She coughed over her drink. “What?”

He nodded. “You want me. You may not yet be aware of it, though.”

“I do not want anything to do with you.”

“I say that you do.”

“You are wrong.”

He drew her from her chair and onto his lap. “Then why do you shake at my touch?”

For such a small question, it galvanized her. She stiffened atop him, face once more a careful blank. “I am not,”

He drew his lips across her bare collarbone, eliciting a shiver from her.

“I see,” he whispered the words against her skin. “Then you do not mind me touching you as it does nothing to you. You do not want me and so feel nothing at this.”

He slid his hand across her chest and down her side to grasp her hip. She jumped.

He growled at her. “Hm, vixen, you are turning pink.”

“I am not.”

He licked his finger then dragged it across her neck and up beneath her ear, smiling when she breathed out, the noise almost a moan.

“No,” he murmured as his mouth replaced his finger to kiss and lick his way up her neck. “I see that you do not want me.”

He nipped her earlobe with his teeth, and this time she did moan.

He pulled her tighter to continue his kisses behind her ear now, a whisper of a laugh escaping when her breathing deepened and her eyes slipped shut.

“Tell me, vixen, how long will you last should I take you home and do this to you in my bed?” He smoothed her hair back out of the way.

“I do not want,” she gasped when the tip of his tongue wet the hollow behind her ear. “You will not, you said,”

“Mm, you taste sweet like honey. How do you taste between those thighs you hold so tightly shut, I wonder?” He nibbled her ear once more, let his hand slip down her belly.

Her thighs parted around his, almost dropping to either side as her head fell back to allow him full access to her neck. His hand came up to hold her beneath the chin, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist.

“You want me. Admit it.”

She made a noise he supposed meant no. He dragged his nails beneath her chin and she hissed out a breath.He kissed her once more, lingering to suck blood to the surface beneath her ear, marking her as his. Then he pushed her away.

She slid from his lap, stumbled, nearly fell to her knees before turning on him.

“What?”

He shrugged. “When you are ready.”

“I, you,” with a visible effort she got herself together. “You are a bastard, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“And you want to fuck me.” He smiled at her. “Some women like that.”

She was on him instantly, knife to his throat. He leaned away from it, never taking his gaze from hers.

“I said not to try this,” he reminded her.

“I hate you.”

He snatched her hand tightly, squeezing until she yelped in pain and dropped the knife. Then he smacked her across the face.

“Do it again and I will give you to them. See how are you treated then.”

He shoved her off himself as if she weighed nothing. She landed on her ass on the floor and stayed there, seething in anger as he snatched the knife up to slip into his belt.


	5. Sounds like a king

She remained on the floor, sullen and silent.

“A drink, vixen?”

She turned away, her gaze on the body of the dead nun. Mathilda, she had called the woman, he remembered.

“As you wish it.”

A man, eyes rimmed in thick kohl that trailed down his cheeks like tears, rushed over. “Ragnar! Here you are, hiding!” He eyed Signy curiously. “You brought the thrall?”

“I wonder to myself now why I bothered.”

He saw her back straighten at his words, though she continued to stare anywhere but at him.

The other man sat in the vacated chair. “Jarl Thorsson is said to seek you out. What have you done?”

Ragnar pursed his lips. “As I was tasked, no more. I’ve not had word to the farm, Floki. You are certain of this?”

“What I heard,” he agreed. He leaned down to peer at Signy. “Does she speak?”

“Signy,”

If looks could kill, he thought as her gaze moved to his, one brow raised.“Lothbrok.”

Floki giggled. “She hates you.”

“Mm, not enough to kill,”

Or perhaps her mind had changed, he conceded silently when her eyes narrowed and her lip rose.

“Do you speak?” This addressed to Signy.

She shot her gaze to Floki. “Do you stop?”

“Yet still you do not learn?” He leaned forward and popped her in the side of the head. “You will keep a civil tongue or I will cut it out.”

She opened her mouth to retort, very clearly thought better of that when he settled one hand on the knife he’d taken from her, and snarled instead.

“She’s not from the god house?”

“She is,” Ragnar’s reply was short. She was still grinding her teeth and he wondered if she’d decided death was better. “They could do little with her, it seems.”

Floki’s unhinged laugh made her shake her head. “Will you have better luck?”

“If her gods wish her to remain alive,”

“Not one of the Christ gods women, then?”

Ragnar sighed and sat back. “No. She is not. What of the one you kept?”

Floki settled his feet on edge of the chair in which he sat to peer at Signy from between his canted knees. “Oh, sleeping in the hay.”

“You see, vixen?”

Her gaze never left his. “Better certainly than the alternative," she agreed.

He clucked his tongue. “What did I say about civil?”

A deep breath her only reply this time.

“Does she pray?”

“What?” Ragnar looked over at his friend. “To who?”

“Blythe prays to her god all the time, it seems. I say to her that the fish need cleaning and she prays. I say to mend the nets, she prays.”

“Blythe is a child.” Apparently she'd decided to talk after all.

Ragnar snapped his attention to her. “A child?”

“Fourteen summers, an oblate yet to their god.”

“What is oblate?”

“It is the name for the girls before they are novices.”

“And what is a novice? Be clear, vixen.”

She sighed. “Girls are oblate, then novice, then nun. It is the way of it,” she shrugged. “Not novice until at least fourteen summers. Blythe would have made novice perhaps this year. You stole that from her.”

“It is not all we stole,”

An almost imperceptible shake of her head greeted this. “No, it is not.” She turned to Floki. “She is likely afraid. Never would she have been alone. The oblates roomed together. She prays to find solace. Her god means much to her.”

“More than her life?” Floki had leaned closer. “Why?”

“Because they believe what they have been taught. Do you not seek to speak with your gods?”

“Ragnar does,”

At this, she shifted her eyes toward him, then back. “And you?”

“The gods do as they will. It is only for me to make offerings.” He stretched out. “Ragnar, perhaps this thrall can make Blythe feel better at home here?”

What Signy thought about that wasn’t immediately clear to him. She was getting better hiding her thoughts. He shook his head.

“Bring her tomorrow.”

“You brought us a gift, Ragnar!” 

He lifted his head to find Jarl Thorsson standing over him. He rose slowly as Floki hopped to his feet.

“We had much success,”

As far as that went, it was perfectly true. They’d brought back silver, much in the manner of symbols to the Christ god, but silver none-the-less. A handful of women had been brought back, though Thorsson would likely not give two shits about them. He was in it for the money and the wordfame.

The other man frowned, confirming Ragnar’s thoughts on the matter.

“What of this one? She is yours?”

“I have need at the farm of extra hands.”

“And she is worth how much?” The man’s gaze upon her was full of scrutiny and not a little lust.

Ragnar was careful not to turn his gaze to Signy. “Her use at the farm is worth more than silver this season, Jarl Thorsson. I assure you. The harvest looks to be good. I need the help.”

“And those children? No wife yet?”

Impassive, he shrugged. “None yet. The woman can tend them for me as well.”

“Perhaps my house has need of a new thrall.”

Ragnar’s nails dug into his palms.

Thorsson turned to him, dismissed the thought of Signy for the moment. “What did you bring, other than the women from your raid?”

“There is silver and coin.”

“And yet,” he moved closer to Ragnar. “You are seen as a leader. Men want to crew your ship. Just for silver and coin?”

“The men always return, Jarl Thorsson.”

“Ragnar has the luck of the gods,” Floki added.

Ragnar wished he’d stayed quiet. He shrugged with a little smile.

“The gods,” Thorsson tasted the words. “You seek above your station?”

“No. I wish only to keep my farm, raise my children, raid when the seas are warm.”

“You have land many others would want, Ragnar. Have I not been generous to you?”

“You have, Jarl Thorsson.”

The other man frowned. “See to it that you keep it in mind.” He tapped the ring that circled Ragnar’s wrist.

He moved on and Ragnar breathed a sigh.

“He rules you?”

He shut his eyes a moment, then met her curious gaze. “He is a capable leader, owns much land, and expects fealty from those he protects.”

“A king?”

“A jarl.”

“Sounds like a king.” She turned away to watch the drinking then, dismissing him utterly.

He sat, no longer so certain of anything. Floki leaned in to him. “I think this one is trouble.”

“Hm.” He drank, morose, vaguely irritated by nothing and everything. "So I am told."

Eventually, Floki wandered off in search of someone more amenable to talk with. Ragnar studied the back of Signy’s head in silence. What did she think of this?

He made no effort to talk to her, gave almost monosyllabic answers to those who came to chat and summarily refused further offers to buy Signy, though not without suggesting to her that she might be better off with another man, to which she said nothing.

Finally, half drunk and exhausted, he yanked her to her feet.

“We’re going home.”

She blinked at him and he saw she had been dozing, her head resting against his knee he now realized. With a smirk, he gave her a tug to get her moving.

She was silent as they crossed the path that led to his home. And he said nothing to her at all.

Once inside, he hooked her chain to the bed and without a word, went to sleep beneath the furs, leaving her to do whatever she wanted.

He woke later, dawn not yet come in the window. She was not in the bed. Surprised, as the fire had burned to embers, he sat up. The chain was pulled as far as it would go to allow her to curl close to the fire. She slept, shivering, on the hearth.

He grunted, rose, and crossed the her.

“Come vixen, you will freeze here.”

He lifted her and she rolled into his warmth. He carried her to bed, piled furs on her, then got in beside her to wrap his arm around her and hold her to himself.

She sighed and pressed to his warmth. He fell asleep with his nose in her hair.


	6. Chapter 6

The house was warm when he woke. The fire burned high. He rubbed his eyes. Signy was there, back to him, something cooking over the fire had her whole attention.

“You have children, you said.”

“Mm,” or perhaps it did not consume all her attention.

He rose, crossed behind her and went out the door. He pissed in the yard, then returned to find her setting bowls of porridge on the table.

She gestured and he sat.

“My children are watched by another woman when I am gone.”

“You are home,” she pointed out.

“I will get them when I must.”

One delicate brow rose at that, she said nothing.

“You will care for the house, the farm.”

“I thought you needed no woman.”

He snorted. “I need a thrall. You are a thrall.”

If she thought anything about that, she didn’t let on. He pointed his spoon at her.

“You will not take a knife to me again.”

Sullen, she lowered her gaze.

“I let you off too easy last night. I said I would use it against you and I did not. I will not do so again.” He leaned across the table to grasp her chin. “You are too young yet to loose your looks. Do not try me, Signy.”

“No, Lothbrok.” Her tone had the note of petulance he associated with children. It would serve.

He let her go, went back to eating. “I’ve business in the town. I will be gone today.”

“You plan to leave me here unattended?”

“You would prefer Rollo watch you? His house is close. He can come.”

She sneered at that.

“I thought not. There is much to do. Ensure it is done.”

“Chained to the bed?”

He gestured at her and she lifted her leg to rest her heel on his knee. He unlocked the iron, let it fall to the ground. “I expect dinner when I return.”

***

It was grown dark when Ragnar slid off his horse.

“Signy!”

There was no response. Candles burned in the house and smoke rose from the chimney. She must be nearby yet.

He went inside.

Rollo was there his back to the door. Signy was pressed against the wall before him. She fought the larger man in silence.

“Stop fighting,” Rollo growled the word and smacked her.

She scratched his face and he hit her in the mouth.

Ragnar reacted without thought, threw the axe he held and it landed true, splitting the wood next to Rollo’s face with a dull thud.

Rollo froze as Signy slid to the floor.

“Signy,”

She darted out of Rollo’s reach, eyed both he and his brother, then dropped to a chair. He lifted her chin to peer at the blood that seeped from her lip, the bruise that had already formed around her eyes.

Rollo turned then, tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Brother.”

Ragnar’s lips curled though there was no smile in his eyes. “Do not touch her again.”

“I am owed recompense for the one she killed.”

Ragnar stalked across the room to stop chest-to-chest with his larger sibling. “Do not touch her again,”

“You will come to regret this one.”

“And that will be my problem. Signy is not to be touched. Am I understood, brother?”

“Your death,”

“Again, not your problem, but mine.”

Rollo nodded, shot Signy a hard look.

“Goodnight.”

After he was gone, Ragnar stood still, hands clenched at his sides. Signy gained her feet, inched away, and looked prepared to run if need be.

“Clean yourself up.”

She spun and ran out of the house.

He heard her at the well a moment later, probably washing off the blood. He sat at the table to wait.

She returned, hair wet and streaming into her face, blood gone. Her eyes touched on him, then away.

“Dinner.”

Silent, she put two bowls on the table, filled each with a rich stew and bread.

“Sit. Eat.”

She sat, still not looking at him, and ate in silence.

“You know how to find trouble, I will give you that, vixen.”

“I sought no trouble.”

“Yet it found you.”

Her gaze rose to his. “You believe I sought him out?” She gaped at him, disbelief in every line of her face. “He is more a pig than you.”

Ragnar smiled. “That he is.” He nodded. “Eat.” He watched as she tore a hunk of bread.

His own reaction bothered him. Rollo wasn’t wrong; he was owed for the woman who died by Signy’s hand. By Ragnar’s insistence. Was that it? Because he’d let her do it? Suggested she do it? Or perhaps it angered him because his brother had not come to him for repayment, instead taking without…what, permission? He frowned at his own meal.

“You are angry.”

He shook his head, raised his eyes to her. “You were busy today?”

She nodded.

“What did you do?”

“Fed the goats, mucked the horse stall, washed the stink of you out of the bedding.”

“Good. You know how to work.”

She rolled her eyes at that, making him grin.

“The nuns at cloister made sure of it,” she offered around a mouthful of food.

He leaned back to watch her over the rim of his cup. “Why do they call them that? Nuns. Are they not priestesses to the god?”

She smirked at her bowl. “Because they get no man on them?”

She smiled when he laughed.

“I like you, vixen. You amuse me.”

Was there something like happiness in the half smile that earned him? Or did she merely bide her time, now wanting Rollo’s death as well as his own?

“You said you were taken there at twelve. What happened to your sisters?”

“One was married off by the women there. They wed her to a man who beat her. Another died after they thought to beat the devil out of her.”

“The devil?”

“We are evil and born of sin, they say. And all evil comes from devils, they would have it. And they claimed my mother was a whore, that my father would get no redemption in their heaven. He went to his own gods, so what of it?”

She shook her head. “They often thought beating would turn us to their ways. Sometimes just because we did not put our headscarf on correctly we would be thrashed,” the words spewed from her like vomit, as if he had opened a wound that would not close.

It was the most she’d spoken to him at one time since he took her.

“You had brothers?”

“Two. Dead. They murder in the name of their god, Lothbrok. Is that what you do? Or is it simply that we got in the way of what you want?”

“You’ve no love for them.”

“Would you?”

Yes, there was hate there. He thought she may hate anyone who stood to harm her or those she loved. It made her dangerous and lacking stability. Yet. A million yet’s, he chided silently. Why was he not more cautious? Why did he yet want to see her as more than the sum of a lifetime of hate? Perhaps it was as Rollo and Floki said. Perhaps he was courting trouble.

“Where did you live before they took you there?”

“Near the sea.” She gestured outside. “Much like this.”

“You are not a Dane.”

“No.”

“Pretty like a Dane,”

That earned a smirk. He chuckled.

“You ought know it, vixen. There are more men than my brother who see it and would try to take it from you.”

“Give me a knife. I will ensure they touch me not.”

“You had a knife.”

She sighed. “You left me here with your sword, your tools. Yet you will not allow me my own? What was to stop me killing you the moment you set foot in the house?”

“Rollo.”

She blinked, then shoved her bowl away. “And now?”

“I think you will not.”

She watched him rise, cross the room to where he kept his weapons. He opened the chest, nodded at her.

“You see?”

“Would you notice a knife missing?”

“Yes. And I think you know that.”

She cleared the table without another word. He stretched out in his chair to busy his hands at carving.

“What are you making?”

She’d come closer, seated herself almost at his feet to watch him.

“A cow. Auðhumla who fed the giant Ymir and created the first god Búri, from licking the ice.”

“A toy?”

“You sound surprised.” 

“What use?”

“For my son.” He shrugged. “He is yet young enough to like such things. Not strong enough to hold a sword for long. Yet.”

“A strange story this Auðhumla the cow, what does it mean?”

“It is how the world was created from the ice of Niflheim when the flames of Múspell melted it.”

“Teach me.”

He looked at her over his hands. “To carve?”

She nodded.

He tossed the half carved wood at her. She caught it as he settled on the floor by her side.

“You see the beast in the wood?”

She shot him a look, then shook her head.

He put his hand over hers to run her finger along the line of the cow where it was taking shape. “Here. You must use your _mind_ , vixen. You see?”

Her gaze was on him, not the wood. Curious, he stared back at her.

“Why have you not taken another wife, Lothbrok?”

“I have said there is no need.” He let his gaze turn to the house around them. “One day someone will insist that I do. Until then,” he shrugged.

“It seems a lonely kind of life.”

“There will be a wife when the time comes.”

“Hm.” She lowered her gaze as he pressed the knife into her hand.

“Have you carved before?”

“No.”

He showed her how to use the knife to shape the wood, then rose.

“Stay.”


	7. Hold not so tightly

The house was dark save the fire that burned to embers in the central pit when Ragnar stumbled in, a woman in his arms. Signy slept in the bed, so he set his soon to be lover atop the table.

“Who is she?”

No concern of yours,” he murmured, then quieted her mouth with a kiss as he lifted her dress up her thighs. It was a simple thing to free his cock from his trousers then shove into her with a grunt of need. He let his head fall to her shoulder as he fucked her.

And after, his head resting against the woman’s neck, he saw Signy’s eyes flash from within the darkness of bruised skin, saw her see him watching her. She frowned and rolled to her other side.

He lowered himself onto a chair at the table, unsettled somehow. “There is ale. Pour us some.”

Though the sturdy blonde gave him a look that would have made Signy proud, she turned to do as he commanded. She, at least, seemed to know her place.

One drink turned into three and another round of sex, this hastily taken on the furs before the fire. Only then, satiated of body, but not of mind, did he lift his lover and carry her to the bed to sleep.

He was unsurprised when Signy was not in the bed at his side the next morning. The woman he’d brought home yet slept on the opposite side where Signy had lain, her drunkenness keeping her deeply in dreams as he rose and dressed.

He found Signy outside throwing his axe ineffectually at a piece of wood. He crossed his arms to watch. She threw with strength, but not accuracy or style.

“You do it wrong.”

She spun to face him. “I thought I smelled your stink.”

He held out his hand for the axe. She crossed to him, slammed the handle into his palm. He caught her with his free hand, pulled her to his side.

“I will show you.”

She said nothing. He felt the anger in her stance. He took her hand, put the handle in it, then closed her fingers over it.

“You hold it here, not so far up, you see?”

He shifted, bringing her before him, front to back, then lifted her arm so that she held the axe slightly out to one side. “Like this.”

He let go and she drew back farther, let the axe fly. It bounced off the wood.

“Again. Hold not so tightly the axe and it will do as you command.”

She retrieved the axe and he set her body once more. This time, the axe made one orbit to turn end-over-end and bite into the wood.

“Better.”

She nodded, gave him a tiny grin.

“Again,”

And so it went; he adjusting her stance, she throwing the axe until it sank into the wood every time.

He nodded at her. “Much better. You learn quickly.”

“Show me to fight with it.”

He laughed. “You wish to learn to fight as we do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He grabbed a second axe, tested the blade with his thumb.

“So that I can.”

“And who would you fight?” He stepped to her, raised his axe and she lifted hers.

“Anyone I wished.” She hefted the axe. “Anyone I felt deserved it.”

She attacked without preamble and he batted her axe away.

“You will have to do better than that or even my son will beat you.”

She grunted and attacked again. He stepped out of her way with a smirk, then knocked her axe out of her hand with one blow.

“You must want it, vixen. Otherwise it is not worth the time it will take to teach you.”

This time, she launched herself at him. He caught her and threw her to the ground then sat atop her, pinning her between his thighs.

“You must not be wild, vixen. You will lose every time if you cannot control yourself.”

“You seem unable to control yourself,” she shot back, then shoved him off to roll to her feet, axe in hand again.

He laughed. “You do not care for the fact that I brought a woman to bed?”

“You do with your cock what you wish, Lothbrok. Keep it far from me.”

He closed on her and she swung, he met it and twisted her axe away.

“You watched. Did you like what you saw?”

“Fuck you.”

He knew he’d angered her, but was unprepared for the ferocity she turned on him. She ran at him and nearly succeeded in slicing his arm, he only just got out of her way. He danced back, then went at her, this time her axe spun away and he put the blade of his to her neck.

“Anger will cause you your life. When you fight you must do so with calm. I will teach you, vixen. Because you are valuable with such skill. But you will not use your anger against me. I did nothing to you.”

“I am your thrall! I say that is far from nothing!”

He smacked her lightly across the face. “Enough. If you prefer me take you to bed, I will do so. You need only ask.”

She snarled and lifted her knee into his crotch.

He grunted, the pain only marginal as her aim had not been true, but it angered him. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the barn to toss into the pile of horse shit that had been mucked from the stall.

“I ought to beat you.” He stood over her, arms crossed, to watch her.

She slid when trying to get to her feet to fight him, landed on her ass again, then sat to fume up at him.

He raised his finger at her. “Once more, vixen. Try me once more and I will beat that pretty ass of yours until you cannot sit for a week.”

“Fuck you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

He turned and left her there to cool off in her own way, his anger roiling in his chest.

Damn that woman. Beat her, fuck her. Threats did nothing. He slammed the door as he entered the house, raising the other woman from her slumber.

“Ragnar?”

Her sleep fuzzed voice infuriated him further and he shoved her out of the bed. “Out. Go. Now.”

She grabbed her dress. “What is wrong with you?”

“Out.”

He stormed to the table to sit and stare at nothing.


	8. First we scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will occasionally include notes for words and terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader. Please let me know if you would prefer I do not :)
> 
> When I use a word that I call “Old Norse,” know that it is Old Icelandic, as there were any number of countries from which the raiders, who came to be known as vikings, went out into the world. In the case of the AU viking Ragnar Lothbrok from this story, who is a Dane, there are too few examples of Old Danish to be terribly useful in writing a story. Most historians and linguists agree on the term Old Norse for the words I use in this story. Skål! (Cheers!)
> 
> Wordfame - reputation. The term comes from the Havamal in the Poetic Edda and was spoken by Óðinn; "Only word-fame never dies." It is the one thing a man could anticipate outliving him, other than his children (particularly sons, but that's another story).

He was still staring at nothing, the anger mostly gone, when Rollo entered the house.

“Your woman is covered in shit, Ragnar.”

“Good.” Rollo’s laugh eased his anger and he grinned. “A lesson,”

“She is trouble, that one.”

He shrugged, offered his brother a cup of ale. Rollo sat across from him, took the offered ale.

“She is resentful.”

“Resentful?” Rollo’s brows went up. “Of?”

“How she is treated. What I have done to her; to teach her,and to make her strong. And, the woman I brought home.”

Rollo sighed and shook his head. “She is not your wife, Ragnar. She is a thrall, nothing more. Remind her of it.”

Ragnar sighed. “Why do you believe she is covered in shit if not for the lesson?”

“You have feelings for her.”

He drained his cup, then shook his head. “No more than to keep her alive.”

“For what?” Rollo raised his hand to the door. “She is worth nothing and brings you trouble. Why keep her? There are plenty of able bodies to help with the farm.”

Why indeed? It was a question he could not answer aloud, nor even to himself could he help it.

“Well, it is your problem.”

“I have been thinking, brother.”

“Truly? I believed you incapable of such endeavor of late.”

Ragnar eyed Rollo a moment. “What do you think of a final raid this summer on the west lands?”

“What do I think of it?” He shrugged. “Why? Have we not taken what we can for this season?”

Ragnar turned the cup in his hands. “Perhaps we have not.”

“You would seek further inland?”

“No,not to march through the land.” He drifted his gaze across the room, to the bed and the chain he’d not had to use since the first night with Signy. “Perhaps there are greater rewards awaiting us.”

“What kind? What are you about, brother?”

“How many ships do you suppose Jarl Thorsson might supply should we attempt to reap bigger rewards for our labor? A raiding party might easily overtake an unsuspecting town, do you not agree?”

“What unsuspecting town?” Suspicion never hid easily on Rollo’s face, and it did not now. “You’ve some idea you are not sharing. We agreed we share equally in all.”

“Yes, yes. Of course we do. I said as much and you have seen I keep to my word. But, what if these hidey holes of the Christ god are not the only mark of wealth on that land? Surely there are towns ripe for the taking.”

“And you know of such a town?”

“Mm,” he twirled the cup absently “I know a way to find one.”

Rollo drained his cup. “And you will ask Thorsson for ships to raid some unknown town upon that gods forsaken shore?”

“Why not? The man would happily accept plunder to pay his men, keep his land. It will raise him in the eyes of others and keep his wordfame high.”

“He watches you, brother. Have care not to step too tall or he may be inclined to call you on it.”

“I look not for trouble, brother. Only wealth so that this farm remains mine.”

Rollo shook his head. “Do not make of the man an enemy is all I say to you.”

Good advice, Ragnar knew. And true. He refilled their cups. “I will seek out a suitable town, Rollo. And when I find one, I will ask Thorsson for ships to take us there.”

“Where do you imagine to find a town? Have you maps?”

“I have not yet need of a map, brother.”

Rollo grunted. “Yet we will have need of one to find any town you believe you know of.”

“I will make one.”

Rollo shrugged. “It remains to be seen,” he gestured toward the door. “And that bitch? What of her? Put her to work on the land is my advice. She ought taste what a thrall’s life is like. Not taken around like a wife by you.”

Ragnar frowned. True, he treated her less than like a thrall, but still he owned her, she knew it.

“She will be your undoing.”

***

Signy had still not appeared when Rollo took his leave later that afternoon. Ragnar wandered to the barn to find it empty. With a sigh, he went in search of her.

She was easier to find than he’d expected. She sat on the dock, naked ass pressed to the boards, her clothes drying by her side.

He crossed to her, crouched behind her. “You cleaned up.”

“I had shit in my hair, my armpits,”

He ran his hands through said hair. “It gets in your way.”

“You will cut it off now? I have seen how your thralls are treated. Hair cut off, bodies used. Do me no favors, Lothbrok.”

“By the gods but your mouth never ceases, vixen.” He smoothed the hank of hair, then separated it into five equal pieces.

“What do you do now?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“You will better learn to fight with it off your face.”

No smart reply to that, he noted. He deftly braided her hair back, tied it with one of the thongs from his own hair, then patted her shoulder.

“There. Better.”

She didn’t respond so he sat next to her, feet hanging off the dock by hers.

“I would understand something.”

“And I am to help you with that?”

“It is about you.”

She eyed him. “What?”

“You were not close with those women, the ones who came here with you? You called them sisters.”

“A word. It means nothing. Should I be close to them?” She shrugged. “I have said that they were no friend to me. Mostly they hated me and I had no love for them. Mathilda was the friendliest of them toward me, for what that matters.”

“You repaid that friendship. You did her a kindness, remember that.”

“I killed her to save her from him and the life she would have here, Lothbrok. It takes little imagination to know what life holds for women here.”

“A kindness,” he insisted.

“What of it? She is gone, the others dead or,” she considered him a moment, “whatever happened to them.”

He let his gaze dip across her as he thought about what she had said.

“You should dress.”

She looked at him, only her head turning. “It bothers you? My nakedness?”

He shook his head at her. “When you are ready, vixen.” He rose. “I am going out.”

“Bringing another woman back?”

He smiled at her. “You could join us.”

She rolled her eyes. “Bastard.”

With a laugh, he left her there.

It was no surprise that she was asleep when he returned that night. She had laid a place by the hearth and slept there. Unsure what to make of that, Ragnar took his woman to bed.

Despite the body beneath his, his gaze continued to return to Signy. He saw when her eyes opened, saw the smirk, saw when her hands disappeared beneath the furs. Hm. The idea that she touched herself while he fucked another so turned him on that he grew dizzy with it, orgasmed while he watched her. Then he lay still, chin propped on his arms, while the woman he’d taken rubbed herself on him. He caught Signy’s head drop back, her eyes slip shut, the rise of her hips when she orgasmed and he groaned aloud. Startled, she looked over, saw him watching her and rolled away.


	9. Chapter 9

She left food the next morning, though she was nowhere to be found. He fed his latest lover, then sent her on her way.

Signy wasn’t at the shore, wasn’t in the barn. He went through the fields as far as the wall that separated his land from the neighbor. Had she escaped? He returned to check his weapons. Nothing missing. He didn’t bother to head towards Rollo’s, certain she would not have dared go that way.

He stopped by the well, unsure where she may have gone. Everyone in their village knew her as his thrall, so she wouldn’t have gotten far had she gone that way and the forest was an idiotic place to run away to. He shook his head, grabbed an axe and his sword and headed out.

It took an hour to locate her deep in the woods. She sat, silent and still, in the stream that ran beneath the spread of the firs.

He stood above her, silent and curious as she put her hands out and snatched a fish as it tried to swim past.

With a laugh, she tossed it atop a pile of others in a net. He breathed a laugh and she lifted her head to look up at him.

“Dinner.”

He nodded. “There is enough in your net.”

“For three?”

He lifted one brow at her.

“Surely another woman this night? Or perhaps you kept her around after last night?”

“No. Not tonight. I’ve words to speak with you.”

“Yes.”

He picked up her net. “I did not see you today.”

“You sought me out?”

“I thought perhaps you made an attempt to escape. You have come far. Why?”

She sighed at that and fell into step at his side. “You need a bath, Lothbrok. You smell of that woman’s quivering tits and thighs.”

“And you smell of longing.”

She scoffed.

“You will come to me when you are ready.”

“You keep saying it.”

“Because it is true.”

She dismissed his words with a shake of her head. “Teach me to fight?”

He laughed. “Alright.”

Once more, they squared off in the yard.

Wary, she circled him, axe held before her. He let her close the distance, stepped out of the way of her tentative attack. She grinned, circled him once more.

“Do the woman you fuck fight, Lothbrok?”

He shrugged. “My wife did.” He let her axe slide off his, turned as she did.

“The others?”

“No.”

She darted in, made a pass beneath his arm, backed away.

“You are not angry today.”

She smiled. “Because it is you who wants me, Lothbrok. And you cannot find me between the thighs of other women.”

He smirked. “You live beneath my roof, vixen. I could take you at any time.”

“But you do not.”

She shot forward and he blocked her, pushed her back.

“Not yet.”

She rushed him, he disarmed her, her axe spinning away and across the yard as he caught her up with his free hand to tap her on the forehead with the butt end of the axe.

She blinked in pain, shook her head to clear it as he dropped her. She staggered, then retrieved the axe from the mud.

“That hurt.”

“It will hurt more should you be cut for your carelessness.”

She went back to circling him, studying the way he stood to defend himself. He nodded approval.

“I will attack you. What will you do?”

She backed away when he came at her, barely avoiding the axe as he swung it at her chest.

“You can do better.”

He attacked again, pushing her to the house so there was nowhere left to go. She lowered her stance, axe at the ready.

“Better.” He swung lightly and she was there to block, the blades crashing together between them.

He nodded, smiled. “Good.”

She shoved him and he stepped back to let her go by, turning as she went, ready when she brought her axe up to strike. He disarmed her again.

“You must watch me, not the axes, vixen. I see what you are going to do in your eyes before you ever move to do it. Watch me.”

She retrieved the axe yet again, settled her stance and met his gaze.

“Yes. Like that.” He closed the distance to strike, halting the blow mid-way.

Instead of falling into it as he’d half expected her momentum to take her, she ducked beneath it and swung at his middle. He caught her axe with his own and threw it.

“You learn, vixen. You learn.”

He turned to retrieve her axe.

“Lothbrok.”

“What?”

She waited until he stood to look at her. “Thank you.”

A slow smile lifted his lips.


	10. Only men are truly free

They ate dinner in silence. Ragnar was lost in thought so that he barely tasted the fish. After, he rose without a word and left the house.

He was deep in the water when she came out to stand on the dock. He gestured to her.

“It is not too cold.”

She stripped, then dove into the water, surfacing next to him.

“I would have drawn a bath,”

“This is better.”

“Is it?” She seemed unconvinced as she tread water by him.

“I would make one more raid this season.” 

He swam away, strong strokes taking him back to the dock in moments.

She followed. He felt her gaze on him when he lifted himself out of the water to sit on the dock.

She stopped to tread water a few feet away.

He said nothing, merely watched her watching him. Waiting.

Eventually she went beneath the water, lithe body turning in a slow circle as she flipped backward, exposing her to his gaze as she went. She disappeared then.

He grinned and waited. He heard her surface close to the pier, then the splash as she came out of the water behind him.

“Will you raid once more upon the shores of Britain?”

She sat next to him to put her shirt on.

“Yes. Tell me, vixen. Tell me about the kingdoms of the land. Show me where they lie and how to reach them. For I would know.”

“I am no friend to them, Lothbrok. Yet, why should I speak to you of where their towns may be found? Perhaps it right you cannot take more than that which you find.”

He patted her thigh. “You belong to me, vixen. It is your duty to speak these things to me when I ask them.”

“Or you will throw me in shit once more?”

He laughed. “You get what you earn.”

She considered him, then flipped the long tail of his hair off his shoulder. “Why do you wear it thus?”

“It is out of my way.”

“Like you made mine.”

“Mm,”

“Teach me how you did it.”

“You do not know how to braid?”

“Always our hair was back to hide beneath a cloth. Pretty is a sin, they say. I’ve not braided since I was a girl.”

He tugged the thongs from his hair. “Can you undo it without taking it in mind to yank me about with it?”

She laughed. “I can.”

“Then do so.”

She unbraided his hair, working her fingers through it until it hung free down the middle of his back. “Do all men grow pretty hair?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “You like it?”

He felt her sigh a breath “I said it is pretty. That is all.”

“You wish to do a single braid?”

“I would do it as you had it before.”

He tugged a lock loose of the whole to separate into three. “Very well. It will take time.”

“Something there is much of this evening.”

He scoffed. “You start with the right, bring it over the center, like this. Now it is the center and you take the left and bring it over.” He braided his own hair with deft fingers, showing her the way of it.

“It looks simple.”

“Now you do it.”

She separated another lock of hair. “What do you wish to know, Lothbrok?”

“There was a town near the cloister from whence you came?”

“Not too far, yes. Further up the coast.”

“Which direction?”

“North and west. The land drops there. A city grew up atop the hills. Easily protected from attack by land. Open to the sea however.”

“Hm. And up a hill?”

“Yes. The slope rises sharply from the sea to the fortress wall. It is not heavily protected as few would dare make the attempt.”

“Why not?”

“Too easy to pour boiling oil and fire upon an attacker clinging to the grass.”

“It is well defended?”

“I do not know how many fighting men keep it.”

“What other towns?”

She thought as she worked, the braid tight if not straight in her hands. “Not far beyond the cloister is a river that runs to many towns. The river opens to the sea not far west from where you made land.”

“A river? Do the people not attack one another there?”

She laughed. “No. They do not consider a river useful for attack. The ships are too,” she leaned around him to make the shape of a hull with her hands. “Deep?”

“The draft is too deep for a river?” He nodded. “My longships draft high, easy to maneuver up a river, easy to navigate such waters. We use them here for the purpose.”

She went back to braiding his hair. “Then you ought take the river. The first town is called as Thetford as you travel inland.”

“You can draw this?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good. You see, vixen, you have many uses.”

She tugged his hair lightly. “It is why you keep me, as you remind me always.”

“Draw this for me this night. Perhaps, if we have a successful raid, you will earn coin of your own. One day to buy your freedom with.”

“You would allow it?” She seemed taken aback by the idea of buying her own freedom.

“It is our way, vixen. You have not so many ways out of your status, but you have some.”

“The others?”

He laughed. “With coin or make a wife for some man who would put up with you. I think you’re safest to earn your way.”

“You think no man would want me though you claim to?”

“You create your own problems, vixen. You sass, you fight, you refuse your place, in short you are not material of a wife.”

She snorted. “Why would I want to be some man’s wife? It seems yet another way to be property.”

“You are a free woman as a wife.”

“A wife is not free, Lothbrok. Only men are truly free.”

He considered that as she worked, the silence between them lengthening in the growing twilight.

“Do you accept children if one comes from the women you fuck?” She asked as she wrapped the final thong around his hair.

He started, drawn from his thoughts by her question. “One has not yet. At least, not that I am aware of.”

“Not an answer, Lothbrok.”

“Yes. I would accept a child.”

“And the woman?”

He shrugged. “I will let you know if it happens. I cannot answer what I do not know.”

She sat by his side, quiet then, her gaze on the water.

“Signy,”

“What?”

“If something is to happen to me, should I die, this is yours. My children are yours. My land is yours.”

She turned to stare at him. “What would I do with a farm and children?”

“Keep them in my memory,” he suggested. “It is another way for you to have your freedom.”

“I am a thrall. Your brother would not have it.”

“You will have your freedom should I die, and all of this,” he gestured with his arm, “will set you up nicely.”

She blinked at him, then rose and walked away.

She was curled into the farthest corner of the bed when he finally went inside. She didn’t speak when he climbed in beside her. He hadn’t expected her to.


	11. Such deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faering - a small row boat with 2 pairs of oars.

He woke to an empty bed, something he was coming to expect where she was concerned. She’d laid out a cold meal, tended the fire, done what he would have expected of her before she left.

He ignored the meal to step outside.

The yard was quiet. The faering was not tied at the dock, he noticed. Before him, traced in the dirt, the map he’d asked of her.

He squatted before it to trace the line of the shore. Yes, here was where they’d made landfall outside the cloister. She had the shape right. He followed the outline to where she’d put the river. Not so very far. Perhaps a days travel further west. Another day would easily take them up the river to the town she had called Thetford. And there? Well, if she were to be trusted, the town would be worth the trouble.

He rose, squinted at the glint off the waters. The faering sat in the middle of the lake. Signy rested, gaze turned to where the fishing line disappeared beneath the calm water.

It would keep her busy while he went to town.

He went to the barn, saddled his horse, then rode out without seeing her other than across the water.

***

“Ragnar Lothbrok, what brings you in so early of a morning?”

Ragnar slid off his horse, threw the reins over the hitching post and strode up onto the porch of Jarl Thorsson’s home.

“I’ve a request. Is he busy?”

The lackey, an annoying man called Svein, that Ragnar trusted no further than he could throw, sneered. “He is in conference. What is it you wish to ask the Jarl and I will make it known to him.”

Ragnar smiled and took a seat on the edge of the porch. “I will wait, Svein. I’ve little to press my time this day.”

The man took up post outside the door, as if his presence would deter Ragnar from his course. “You may wait a long while then.”

Ragnar shrugged, took his knife out and started carving on the cow, smoothing the shape Signy had brought forth from the wood.

The door opened and Svein scowled. “Ragnar Lothbrok has come.”

Jarl Thorsson nodded. “I see. Well, what is it you wish to speak about? I’ve little time.”

“I would like to plan another raid in the west, Jarl Thorsson. I have come to know that within two days of the place we landed is a kings fortress ripe for the taking.”

Thorsson crossed his arms and, Ragnar noticed with wry amusement, Svein mimicked the motion.

“And how do you come by this knowledge?”

“One of the thralls mentioned it, made a map so that we may travel there.”

Thorsson’s gaze never left his face and he wondered if he’d said too much.

“The thrall who warms your bed nights?”

He shook his head. Who had spread the tale of Signy’s place at his side? Too bad the implication weren’t true, but if it kept the man from demanding her, then Ragnar would bear it with no comment.

“You think we do not know what goes on at your farm, Ragnar?”

“What of it? There is no shame in it.”

Thorsson grinned. “Bring me this map and the one who told you of this king’s fortress. I would hear the tale myself.” He strode past Ragnar. “You come to ask for ships. You must prove to me the value of the endeavor ere I allow you to make this voyage again.”

“Of course.” Damn the man. He had no wish to drag Signy before Thorsson once more. Would do almost anything not to, truth be told.

“And if this thrall knows so much of the lands to the west, she will make a valuable addition to my house.”

And with that, he was gone. Svein gave him a look of contempt as he hurried in the Jarl’s wake.

***

Ragnar veritably flew from his horse at Rollo’s house.

“Brother!” He yelled as he crossed the yard.

Rollo appeared around the side of the house. “What?” He rubbed his sweaty face with a hand crusted with dirt. “You yell like a wounded child, Ragnar. What is it?”

“I need a thrall. One unknown to Thorsson and his minions.”

“Why in the god’s for?”

Ragnar outlined the conversation to Rollo.

Rollo dunked his head in a water trough, rubbed the dirt away before gesturing Ragnar into the house.

“You must have lost your wits, brother.” He slid a mug across the table to Ragnar who caught it.

“He will not know one thrall from another. Who is to say which one told me where this fortress could be found?”

Rollo put his elbows on the table to stare balefully at Ragnar. “I daresay she had best be worth the trouble you bring upon yourself with this lie. It would be simpler to take Signy and her map and be done with it.”

“No,” he paused to gather his thoughts. “What of the girl Floki took? Few have seen her.”

“Ragnar,”

“And he was to bring her to my home. Said she prayed too much,” he mused.

“Ragnar.”

“Perhaps Signy could teach her, should she not already know the lay of the land.”

“Ragnar!”

Startled, he shut his mouth.

Rollo sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “Do you not hear yourself? Is this bitch worth your own life? You scheme to lie to Thorsson? He will have your head should he find out.”

“He will not find out.”

“Witless idiot. He surely will. You cannot keep a thing like that from his ears.”

Ragnar shook his head.

“You worry he will want Signy. You care far too much for that one, brother.”

“My children,” he muttered. “I keep her to care for the children.”

Rollo’s face reflected nothing a moment. “Where are your children, Ragnar? You keep her to tend them but they have not come back from Orlaith and Sven’s.”

“I will bring them home this night. You must help me in this, brother. Or we will get no other chances.”

“You love her.”

“What? She is unworthy to make a wife.” When had he become such a deceiver?

“To another man, perhaps. You seem to like the ones who would defy you at every turn. Do you wish to replace Lagertha with Signy?”

“I could not replace Lagertha,” he replied, honestly.

“You protect her. You would protect her from Thorsson. Let him have her. Siggy will ensure she keeps to her place.”

If Rollo had hoped to convince him of it he failed. All he managed was to convince him that Signy would not be safe with Thorsson at all. The jarl’s wife, Siggy, was a jealous, scheming woman who would dislike Signy on sight. He could not, would not, do that to her.

“I see how you look. I know that look, brother.” Rollo sighed heavily. “You dig in your heels over a woman worth little more than the romp one could get on her thighs. But you are set on this course. An idiot. That is what you are, brother.”

“You will help me.”

“You leave me no choice should I wish to keep you alive a while longer yet.”

Ragnar grinned. “You are a good brother.”

“And you are an idiot. Go. Leave me. I will come tonight to see this map. Perhaps Floki’s thrall will be with me.”


	12. A plan

“Vixen? Where are you?”

She looked up at him from cleaning fish near the fire. “I am here.”

“My children.” He pushed them forward. “My son, Bjorn. My daughter, Gyda.”

Signy rose and wiped her hands on her dress. “Hello.”

Bjorn lifted his gaze to Ragnar. “Father, she is the one you spoke of?”

Ragnar nodded, gaze on Signy, assessing, watching.

“I’m called Signy.”

Gyda gave her a tiny smile. “You are pretty.”

“Thank you, you are quite pretty too, Gyda.”

“Is it true you come from a place where they believe in only one god?”

Signy’s laugh surprised Ragnar into a smile.

For her part, she seemed to take to the children at once. And they liked her.

He watched her teach his daughter to make fish stew, watched when she got on the floor to play with his son after the meal while he doodled the map onto a scrap of leather parchment.

“It is like this?” He held it out for her to see.

She looked up, the carved cow in her hand, and she smiled. Had she ever looked quite so at ease before?

She handed the cow to Bjorn, then climbed to her feet to come around the table to where he sat. “Let me see.”

He let her take the parchment from him to study. She nodded, then pinched her fingers together at him. “The coal?”

“Mm,” he handed her the coal pencil. “What is wrong with it?” Without thought, he drew her onto his lap so that she could work at the table.

“Here, you see?” She rubbed at one of the lines he’d drawn, smudged it away, then redrew it differently. “The land is more like this. There is a small island here,” another mark, “just beyond the mouth of the river. It is a narrow pass but not impossible.”

“Would my ships get through?” Absently, he offered her his cup as he stared at the map.

“They are the same as before?”

“Yes.”

“They would, Lothbrok.” She turned to stare down at him. “It is possible and you would be a far richer man.” She drank.

He smiled. “You believe that.”

“I do. I know the way you attack, remember?” She nodded. “You would have the element of surprise, and if your ships can truly make it up the river, who is to say where you would be forced to stop?”

He took the cup from her unresisting hand. “And you to thank, vixen.”

The door opened, letting in rain and a soaked Rollo. Behind him, a woman. She came barely up to his shoulder. Water ran off her cloak to puddle on the floor.

“Blythe?” Signy rose and crossed to the woman. “Is it you?” She pushed the woman’s cloak back. “I had word that you yet lived.”

The woman stood trembling before Signy. She was not more than a few years older than his own daughter, he realized.

As if her friend incapable, she removed her cloak, then took her by the hand and drew her to the fire. “You will be warmer here.”

Blythe went to her knees without a word as Signy turned to scowl at him.

“What has your friend done to her?”

He shrugged. “I am to know?”

Rollo took a chair at the table. “Floki was glad to be rid of her, brother. He says her constant pious nature gave him fits.” He laughed. “Said you ought return her once she’d learned to keep a house.”

“There,” Ragnar said to Signy. “Now we know.”

“We know nothing,” she huffed as she turned to Blythe once more. “I will bring you a drink. Would that help warm you?”

The girl shot a look at the two men at the table, then at the children who sat and played quietly nearby before nodding once.

Rollo poured himself a cup from the pitcher on the table. “This is the map?” He took up the parchment.

“Yes. We could get there easily, it is not far from where first we made land, brother.”

Signy poured from the pitcher, then went back to her friend to kneel next to her and try to ply her with drink.

“And you believe it right?”

“I do.”

Rollo’s gaze went to Signy’s back. “She would not lie?”

“She might. But in this I believe her.”

“And you would have this mouse explain the map to Thorsson?”

“If she is able.”

“She is not able. She did little save murmur words against me as we traveled here.”

“We will see what Signy can do with her. Perhaps yet,”

Rollo shook his head. “I care not. Even should the bitch have magic, she will be unable to bring that one around. Perhaps it would be better she take a knife to her as she did my thrall.”

Ragnar shrugged when Signy lifted her gaze to them.

“Think you Thorsson will give you the ships you seek?” Rollo continued.

“He will. He will see this map and let us chase fortune in his name, brother.”

Rollo grunted.


	13. To move with the wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day....an extra chapter or two for you.

It had been touch and go with Blythe for two days, Signy gradually bringing the girl around, allowing her to remain in the house to cook and clean and pray.

It vexed Ragnar but he said nothing, hope yet alive in his chest that he would not be forced to take Signy to Thorsson’s with the map.

Signy, meanwhile, had settled into a routine that kept her in the fields most days, shadowing him as he began the laborious task of weeding out some plants so that others would grow. It was boring work and exhausting, but her company made it tolerable.

“Bjorn, go and refill the pitcher at the house.”

The boy ran to his father. “I will bring a meal if Blythe has cooked one.”

He nodded as he plopped onto the grass to rest a moment. Bjorn ran off.

“I often envy their energy,”

He squinted up at her. “It is not yet work for him.”

She sat next to him. “You think you will go west again?”

He nodded. “Jarl Thorsson wishes to see the map and it’s maker before he yet agrees to give me the ships I need.”

“He is the one like a king?”

Ragnar grinned. “The same.”

“He wishes to keep the thrall who knows those lands.”

“So he says.” He dug at the dirt between his feet with the point of his knife. “He believes it to be you.”

“Ah, then he wishes to keep what is yours.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Why do you say that?”

She met his gaze with a soft shrug. “That night at the long house, he asked how much for me. He wants what you have.”

“I do not have you.”

“I am your thrall.”

He let his head drift to the side. “You see much. What reason has he for wanting what I have, vixen? A thrall can be had anywhere.”

“Not one of yours.”

He leaned to her. “And what makes mine desirable?”

She considered him. “Because it is yours, Lothbrok. He wants what you have.”

“And you are certain that it is not just that he desires you?” He rolled his head back. “He takes many to bed.” He smirked. “Men. Women. It is all the same so long as he controls all.”

“Oh, I think it is what you have. He finds you a threat, would remind you your place. Is it not true?”

“Perhaps.” He dropped his head back to look at her once more. “Or perhaps it is you.”

“What answer do you seek?”

“The one you would give me.”

She snorted. “I have given you one, it does not suffice.”

He tugged the hem of her tunic. “You are worth more than he knew that night, vixen.”

“More even than you yet knew,” she agreed. She placed her hand atop his chest to keep from being tugged over.

“Mm, perhaps. Would you be the thrall of a Jarl, vixen?”

“I see no difference, Lothbrok. One man is much like another when he serves to control.”

He laughed and tugged harder. “Why did you help me?”

“With the map?” She shrugged as he finally managed to pull her down at his side. “I think you will succeed.”

“And what of it?”

“I would buy my freedom, Ragnar. I will not remain beholden to you even beyond your death.”

“Oh.” He licked his lips, grinned at the sky. “I understand now.”

“It was,” she sought for a word as she watched clouds drift overhead. “It was…kind. The offer you made,”

“It was not an offer, vixen. I meant it. Freedom is what you seek. Ican offer it to you in that way.”

“Why?” She sat up despite his hand upon her arm. “We go not more than a night at a time without argument. I am a thrall. I am not a Dane. And I am not the woman on whose thighs you find comfort. Why, Ragnar? What ever have I done to make you offer me this?” The sweep of her arm encompassed the farm.

“No reason other than my children are not yet old enough. You are quick, you wish to learn, and you would do what you must to keep it.”

She stared down at him. “You have a brother who works this land, who is kin of you. Should he not be the one to get all upon your death?”

“Perhaps, vixen, I wish for my brother another fate.”

“And you are able to choose his fate then?”

He smiled at her. “I chose yours.”

“You took a thrall! By the gods you are the most annoying man I have ever met!” She climbed to her feet to stomp away.

“You want me!” He yelled after her, then chuckled to himself when she screamed a word in her language that he did not know, but was certainly a curse.

Bjorn brought a full pitcher and a meal back from the house. He sat by his father.

“What do you do? You angered Signy?”

Ragnar lifted his gaze to his sons. “You ought to know that women have little aptitude when it comes to patience, Bjorn.” His gaze slipped away, sought Signy where she worked. “Signy doubly so.”

The boy nodded, though Ragnar was certain he understood nothing at all.

“What did you bring?”

Bjorn untied the cloth in his hands. “Blythe made bread and there was fresh cheese.”

He tousled the boys hair. “You did good. And how was Blythe this day?”

Bjorn’s eyes clouded. “Why does she fear us, father?”

“She was raised to fear by her god and to find us evil.”

“Evil?” Bjorn looked around.

Ragnar looked with him, here they sat, Signy not far away, Rollo in the next field with a handful of thralls to work the land. It must seem confusing, he thought.

“We do not live as they do, Bjorn. Our laws are different. Our gods are different. Blythe is unsure of us.”

“Signy is not.”

“She adapts, changes to what is needed of her. Strong, you see? Like a tree will not be blown down in a storm if it will just move with the wind, bend a little to the power that would overwhelm it.”

“Blythe is not a tree, is she?”

He shrugged. “It remains to be seen.”


	14. Seekers

After the meal, Ragnar sat on the porch of the house, wooden sword in one hand, ale in the other. Below him, Bjorn held his own sword, and attempted to do as instructed. Gyda, Blythe, and Signy sat on the other end of the porch to spin wool and speak amongst themselves.

Though his eyes were on his son, his ears were attuned to their chatter.

“And the god says that you are saved by the death of his son?”

“Yes child, he was called Jesus. He died so that we may live.”

“And this was for all people, not just his own?”

“It was. He was an amazing man who believed that anyone can be saved, despite what they believe today,” Blythe explained.

He heard Signy snort, though she kept her thoughts to herself.

“It seems an odd way to show his love, this god,” Gyda’s words were slow as she thought it through. “He gives a woman a baby without getting on her thighs. But then he lets this son die for crimes you say he did not commit? Not a good father,”

Ragnar bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“In order for us to be saved and live forever, he died for us. For our sins.”

“What sins?” Gyda shook her head. “I have not sinned. You said sin is evilness.”

“You are born with the sin of Eve on you,” Signy said.

“Who?”

Blythe smiled. “In the beginning there was a man and his name was Adam. He was alone and asked God for a mate and so Eve was created to be his wife and helpmeet.”

“Then it was your god who sinned.”

Blythe gasped. “He is God. He is incapable of sin.”

“Gyda, the story is that this man and woman lived in a perfect garden and they were given much freedom. And Eve was tempted by the devil, their evil one, to eat off a tree that gave knowledge and she did thus and that was the sin.”

Ragnar could hear the irritation in her voice.

“You do not believe that, do you, Signy?”

“No, I do not. It is a story, nothing more.”

“It is truth, Signy.”

“Can we not agree that there is more than a single way to see this, Blythe? I have never cared what any man believes, so long as he believes it in his heart. Why must you yet insist to me that this is true when I have said I do not believe?”

“So in your story, it is Adam and Eve?” Gyda ignored their bickering. “In the story as I know it, they are Ask and Embla. They were made from wood that Óðinn and his brothers found upon the ground. They were gifted a spirit by Óðinn, the ability to think and know by Hœnir, and life and blood by Lóðurr. Is it not the same story?”

“It sounds much to me,” Ragnar said.

He saw Signy smile at the distaff in her hands.

“What story was told of it when you were a child?”

She glanced at him. “It is much the same. The first god was Eiocha, and she was born where the sea met the land. And she birthed Cernunnos, who lay upon her thighs, and the gods were born. And the gods created us from the oaks.”

“It is all blasphemous nonsense,”

“Oh Blythe, even at one time your people believed much as mine.And do not all these stories have some common elements? Trees and names? Are they not similar in some way to your mind? What is wrong in seeing the gods other than you chose to?”

“Because it is wrong.”

“Then we will agree to disagree,” Signy replied. She set her distaff aside and wandered to where Bjorn yet took lesson from Ragnar. She squatted next to him. “Look, you see that he pays little attention. Watch his eyes, when he does not watch you, then he is weakest and can be fought.”

“Mm, you seek to teach my son?”

“I seek to see him best you.”

He laughed. “One day he will.”

“Could you take us both?”

He sat forward, unable to keep a sly smile from his lips. “You wish to try?”

“Give me a sword.”

He tossed her the wooden sword he held.

“What will you use?”

He lifted his axe.

Bjorn looked between them, then tugged Signy’s dress. “Come, you are with me.”

Ragnar rose, axe only half raised as he faced them. “Do as you will.”

“It is unseemly, Signy.”

“Really Blythe, there is no wrong in a woman having worth in battle.”

Ragnar chuckled, turned his gaze to her as she circled right. Bjorn went left, though not as wide. He locked eyes with her, turned a bit as she continued to move around him. He stepped to her, into her attack as she thrust the sword at him. The wood bounced off the handle of his axe and he nodded.

“It is not so easy.”

Bjorn had come to his other side, he let the axe dip to parry his son’s attack, then spun away from hers.

“You are not united in attack. You will not best me this way.”

Signy prowled around him, trying to back him into the house. He moved with her, keeping the distance equal yet keeping his back from the house. He turned his body far enough to catch Bjorn’s sword with the axe head, then turned back to capture her arm as she brought her sword up and overhead.

“Better. But not good enough.”

“You would allow her to best you?”

He glanced at the two girls still seated on the porch. “Should she ever be capable of it, then yes.”

He turned back in time for their coordinated attack. With Bjorn, he merely smacked away the sword, sending it spinning into the dirt. Signy he caught, knocked the sword from her hand with the butt of the axe, then yanked her off her feet.

She shook her head as she rose to dust herself off.

“Perhaps on the morrow I will show you how to use a bow.” He took his seat on the porch again. “Blythe, what know you of the lands around the cloister where we found you?”

Signy’s brows went up. He shook his head at her, trying without words to shut her up. She shrugged, turned back to her distaff, yet standing, to let it drop to the ground as she made thread from the wool.

“I was raised near it. Why?”

He let his gaze travel to the lake, careful not to spook her. “Oh, I wonder what it is like there. Why do so many women and men go to these cloister’s? Is not life beyond their walls worth living?”

“We give our lives to God.”

“But why? Were conditions so poor thereabouts to send you to your God?”

“No, of course not. My family was well known in our town. My father was a yeoman for the local lord.”

“Yes? Then you gave yourself to the Christ god willingly and not to escape poor conditions.”

She nodded. “I suppose that is the truth of it, master Ragnar.”

He nearly spit his ale. “Who?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The girl actually cringed. Gyda rubbed her arm. A kindness that made him proud of her.

“Master Floki said it the way to call you all.”

Despite himself, he glanced at Signy. She smirked at him, then turned her eyes to her distaff.

“I, ahm,” he cleared his throat. “Ragnar is fine, Blythe.”

She actually blushed, her face hot where he gazed on her. “It is wrong.”

“You would be able to draw a map of your town? How it relates to the cloister?” Onward and upward, he thought. Perhaps he could yet get what he needed.

“Yes. I could do so.”

“And explain it to the Jarl, should he ask detail of you?”

“Of course.”

He smiled. “I have a task for you.”


	15. You would see

And so it was that Ragnar found himself with six fully crewed ships not three days later. Signy had remained at the house with Gyda, while Bjorn traveled with he and Blythe to visit Jarl Thorsson. The return trip left him giddy with anticipation.

Signy was outside, weaving nets. She looked up as they approached.

“Take the horse, see that she’s fed and watered, rubbed down,” he told Blythe as he hopped off.

“As you say, master Ragnar.”

He snorted, but continued on his way to Signy. “She did it, vixen. I have the ships I sought. And you to thank for it.”

“Blythe did her part as well. You will find coin for her upon your return.”

“Yes, of course.” He grabbed her by the arms. “Are you not pleased?”

“Yes.”

“Gyda and Bjorn will be safe here with you while I am gone.”

“You will not send them away this time?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I will keep them safe,” she agreed.

“You seem not pleased, vixen.”

“There was a man. Before.”

“What man?” Confused, he peered into her eyes, trying to see the truth.

“He walked beyond the house,” she gestured toward the back of the yard. “I sought to speak to him, but he would not lift his gaze to mine.”

“What did he look like, this man?”

“He wore a cloak, the hood lifted. I could not well see his face. His hair was white. I think he had only one eye.” Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered.

He drew her to himself. “He did not stop?”

“No.”

“He came alone?”

She nodded. “Who was it, Ragnar?”

“Perhaps the gods make themselves known to you. Perhaps Óðinn.”

“They are not my gods.”

“They are the gods of this land, vixen.”

“Your friend said that you speak to the gods. You have seen this Óðinn with your own eyes?”

“I have. And he is much as you describe.”

She drew away to look up at him. “Your gods live and allow themselves be seen? They are not just a story?”

“All gods are real, would you not say?” He took her by the hand and started around the house.

“They are stories. Nothing more.”

He led her to the small family altar behind the house. “Here we make offerings to the gods, the ancestors, kin that have passed. For we would remain strong in our ties to them.”

He knelt, tugging her down as he went.

“The stories guide us, vixen. Within each is a lesson how to best live. Within each also a truth of the gods. They will honor us with favor if we honor them with offerings.”

She looked at him, then at the altar. “What do you offer the gods that they would need?”

“The offerings are a way to send our thoughts, our good wishes. In the smoke of a fire, we may send prayers much like Blythe believes of her kneeling and gesturing.. In drink, we give fealty and act as a good host. Meat is shared for sustenance for all.”

She nodded, placed her hands on her thighs in imitation of how he sat. “And should one wish to speak with the gods, this is the way? Offer and speak?”

“Yes.”

He patted her arm, then rose. “Come, I would yet show you how to use a bow.”

“Why do you trust me?”

He looped his arm through hers. “You have not proven yourself to be anything but trustworthy, though I daresay you’ve had ample opportunity to do so. We could go back to fighting if it makes you happy.”

“I told you once that you saved me from boredom. And then, I believed that it would be worse here, that life as a thrall would equal at least the violence imposed upon me by those who sought to undo me. You are not always kind, and often you try my patience, but you have not hurt me, nor taken what you so seem to want.” She shook her head at him. “I do not understand why.”

“There is yet more to you that I do not know or see, vixen. I would know it. Then, perhaps you may live the life you believe I would force upon you. Would it please you more to hate me for hurting you than hate me for not understanding you?”

“Your brother, he thinks nothing of treating thralls as a useful animal. Do all Dane’s view it this way? And why do you not? Or is it just that you do not treat me in such a manner?”

He slipped his arm around her, gave her a squeeze. “Does it matter which it is?I treat you how I treat you.”

He felt her stiffen.

“Why can you not give me the truth, Ragnar Lothbrok? Is it so hard for you to speak words that do not cut or confuse?”

He let her go to fetch his bow and a quiver of arrows, returning to find her staring at the distance.

“What?”

“Is that the man you call Óðinn?”

He went to her side to peer the direction she yet looked. Faint and far away, a man in a hooded cloak walked with a staff. Behind the figure skulked a wolf. He took a half step in front of her, unconsciously shielding her body with his own.

“None have ever seen him save me,”

Though he spoke not above a whisper, she responded. “You see him too, then.”

He nodded.

Together, they watched as the man made his way along the far tree line, finally disappearing from view.

“Ragnar, does he mean us ill will?”

“He means us stay our chosen course,”

“How can you be sure?”

He turned, met her gaze. “Because it is the right one.”

She blinked at that but let it go.

“Come. I must let Rollo know we got the ships. We will make ready to depart soon.”


	16. When it rains

Signy and Blythe brought Gyda and Bjorn to see the ships off on their journey a week later. 

It was her solemn gaze he saw as their boat receded into the distance.

“She will be gone when you return.”

Ragnar let his gaze shift to Rollo. “No.”

“You left her alone and unguarded. She will be gone.”

He merely smiled.

The sea crossing was uneventful, something Ragnar hardly took for granted. It was getting late in the season and the waters became more unpredictable each day.

The mouth of the river was exactly as she said it would be, a boon that raised her worth even in Rollo’s eyes. And the ships easily fit past the small island to start up the calm waters of the river.

***

They reached the town two afternoons later.

Their unexpected arrival left the warriors scrambling to defend, and arrows rained down around them as Ragnar’s men overwhelmed their forces.

Ragnar and Rollo fought together, making their way through the warriors between them and their goal. The largest home, set above the city upon a hill. Surely the kings. They were first into the holding, first to discover and open the chests of silver that lined the walls of a room beneath the house proper.

Satisfied, Rollo called the others to come help transfer the chests to their boats, leaving Ragnar alone.

A warrior, hidden among barrels, rose behind Ragnar. Too late, he heard and spun, taking the sword in the front of his shoulder instead of his back. He staggered back and fell across the nearest chests. The other man let loose a savage cry and went for Ragnar, leaping forward in fury.

As Ragnar watched, unable to lift his own weapon, the man’s head parted from his neck, blood splattered his face. The body dropped to the floor and Rollo’s grinning eyes met Ragnar’s.

“Idiot,”

“Mm,”

Rollo lifted him, and he hissed in pain.

“Lucky it wasn’t an inch lower, brother. You’d be dead.”

Ragnar growled in pain as his brother helped him up the stairs and into their boat. Blood, his own blood, was spreading across the linen tunic he wore. He let his head drop back, his gaze on the skies above as Floki, ripped his tunic open to expose the wound.

“Drink.”

Ragnar accepted the strong drink Floki pushed into his hands. He managed to get it to his mouth and swallow deeply of it, grimacing as it burned its way to his belly.

He yelped a string of curses when the other man stuck a needle into his skin, hissed in pain once more as the catgut ran through him, cinching the wound. He shook his head, drank as Floki closed the gash, tried to pretend his was not wounded.

***

Then they were heading back the way they came, boats once more navigating the river like a road.

Rollo sat at his head where he’d laid down after Floki sewed him back together. “It is bad?”

“Mm, there have been worse.”

“How do you feel?”

Ragnar considered it. “Awful.”

Rollo laughed. “You are lucky to be alive. The gods smile on you, brother. Sven was not so lucky.”

He shut his eyes. The man had been a friend, often watching the children as if they were his own. “Orlaith will have his full share.”

“Of course.”

“And the rest of the men?”

“All live, some were wounded but nothing bad.”

“That is good then.” He gestured. “I would rest, Rollo.”

“Sleep. Heal.”

“Mm.”

***

He woke to the spatter of rain on his face, the boat tossed beneath him as it crashed through waves.

“A storm?”

Rollo had at some point returned to sit next to him. “Yes. It will be bad, I think.”

“We cannot be blown off course. Why has the yard not been lowered?”

“The halyard is knotted.”

“Cut it loose.” Ragnar flinched as he stood.

Around him, men were lifting the waxed skins that would serve as their shelter. He shrugged through to find Floki fighting with the halyard.

“Floki, cut the rope! If the yard is not lowered we will be blown off course!”

The other man, eyes wild beneath hair that blew in the wind, nodded.

As soon as the rope was cut, the yard fell straight down, nearly knocking three men overboard and catching Ragnar in the chest. He sprawled on the bottom of the boat, senseless a moment as pain shot from chest to head and back. Then Rollo was yanking him from beneath the sail.

“Brother?”

Ragnar shook his head as the urge to vomit hit. He settled on the bench onto which Rollo dropped him, let his head fall forward.

“The wound is open again.”

Ragnar looked down. Yes. Fresh blood seeped through his tunic. It would be fine. He would be fine.

The storm raged around them. Their ships tossed like toys on the waters. He was not the only man to vomit over the side.

***

As soon as the storm abated enough Ragnar was up taking measurements with the light.

He glanced at Rollo. “We are not so far off course as I feared.”

His brother’s gaze upon him was concerned. “You are pale.”

“Tired,”

“How long to get back on course? Have we lost days in the journey?”

Ragnar shook his head, though it made him dizzy to do so. “One day, perhaps two. Nothing more.”

“Let Floki look at your shoulder again.”

“I am fine, brother.”

Rollo looked unconvinced though he said nothing more and Ragnar settled against the hull to let sleep overtake him.

***

He woke once in the dark, Floki sitting by his side, glittering eyes on him.

“Where?”

Floki shrugged. “Another day, perhaps. The wound festers,” He prodded Ragnar’s chest lightly. “You need off this ship.”

Ragnar agreed whole heartedly with that assessment. His chest burned now where the wound sent tendrils of red out in search of his heart.

He rubbed his grainy eyes with one hand. “It is hot.”

“Drink this. You need to drink.”

He let his friend put a cup to his lips. Bitter ale that he swallowed with difficulty.

“Awful,”

“It is willow bark.”

He shut his eyes against dizziness.

***

He was sleeping when their boat touched the dock.

“Ragnar.”

“Mm?”

“We are home. Wake up.”

Rollo shook him by the good shoulder. He winced. He was dizzy, unable to hold down food. Sick. At least death would be on the shores of his home.

He let Rollo help to all but carry him off the boat.

“Vixen?” He turned eyes bright with fever to Rollo.

Rollo shook his head as he gazed at those gathered to meet the boats. “Not here, brother. I said it would be as much.”

He let his brother haul him onto a cart next to chests of silver. He rode, head sick and weak, as Rollo guided the mare homeward.

The house was empty, Rollo informed him after a quick look around.

He staggered against Rollo as he made it off the cart and to his feet.

“You need rest.”

He shook his brother’s arm off, headed toward the back of the house.

Rollo followed in curious silence.

He leaned against the frame of the house at the corner. Signy was kneeling in the dirt at the family altar, Gyda and Bjorn at her side. Blythe stood behind them, watching with arms crossed. He breathed out a small laugh at the sight of it.

Her head rose at the noise and she leapt to her feet. “Ragnar!”

He nodded as he slipped sideways. Rollo caught him. She drew up short, wide eyes on his shoulder.

“You were wounded.”

“A scratch,” he muttered. “Am I no longer Lothbrok?”

She blinked up at Rollo who shook his head at her.

“He grows ill from it. I will fetch the healer. He must have rest.”

She caught Ragnar on her shoulder as he drifted further to the side. “Come on. You’ve a sickness in that wound.”

“It is nothing.” He wanted to insist but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

She half dragged, half walked him to the house and the bed.

She eased his tunic off to better see the wound.

“Oh.” Her face went carefully blank at the narrow tendrils of red that ran straight as an arrow from the gash that had not yet begun to heal and toward his heart.

“Will I die, vixen?” He meant it a joke.

She scowled at him. “It would serve you right, Ragnar Lothbrok.” She turned to Gyda. “Bring water and cloths. Bjorn, go with Rollo for the healer.”

His eyes slipped shut. “I like when you,” he swallowed a groan when she prodded the wound softly, “when you speak my name.”

“Then I shall use it more often should you yet live another day,”

Then she was gone. He heard her rummaging in the kitchen a few minutes. He drifted, half asleep, half dizzy.

“Can you drink this?”

She helped him lift his head, put the cup to his lips. Mead flavored with herbs. He sipped it, found his stomach would accept it, and drank for her.

“It will ease the pain.”

“That would be good,” he agreed, voice weak like as a starving infant.

Then she was gone again and he slept.

He woke with a yelp of pain, eyes flying open to find the healer bent over him, a vicious and stinking potice in his hands. Signy stood behind the healer, her too solemn gaze on him.

“What the fuck?” He yelped again and batted at the healers hands.

“Let him work, Ragnar.”

“He is too rough. You will do it.” He knew he sounded like a whiny child, didn’t care.

She smirked at that, but nodded and pressed the healer out of the way. “He wishes me do it.”

“What do you know of it?” The man demanded.

“Enough.”

Ragnar’s laugh was more a wheeze than the robust sound he preferred, but he was glad it was there.

She smiled down at him. “You are an idiot, Ragnar. Truly. Did you not even see the man before he attacked you? Or did you simply stand there and await the blow? Were that I knew better, I would think you did it on purpose so as not to have to harvest your fields.”

He grunted, winced when her gentle hands placed the poultice on the wound once more to hold there.

“Keep it on him to draw out the poison if he will listen to you.”

“He listens to no one,” came her prompt retort to the healer. “I will do what I can with him.”

The man placed something on the table. “Give this to him if the pain grows. I will return tomorrow.”

Then he was gone and Rollo came to the side of the bed, looming over Signy’s smaller frame.

“She’s right. You are an idiot.”

Ragnar nodded. “So I hear.”

Rollo just sneered at that. “Take care of him, woman.”

“I intend him to remain alive,” she said.

He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like bitch to Ragnar’s ears. “Good.”

She grinned and he caught the teasing in her gaze when she glanced from the police to his eyes. “Because he must be well enough that I may kill him.”

Rollo’s eyes grew wider and he opened his mouth to say more.

“I am fine in her care,” he rushed in before his brother could grow angry.

With a shake of his head, Rollo turned away. “I will come tomorrow to check on you.”

“Goodnight, brother.”

Signy sat on the edge of the bed once they were alone. “You look terrible.”

“Mm,”

“And you reek. Did you roll in shit to get so sick with this wound? You smell worse than any man I’ve known.”

“And how many is that?”

She shook her head at him. “Can you eat?”

“No.”

“You should try.”

“You wish to clean puke from my hair next?”

“No.”

He shut his eyes, desperate to stay awake yet far too ill to do more than he’d done already. “I am tired.”

“Sleep. It will do you good.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will occasionally include notes for words and terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader. Please let me know if you would prefer I do not :)
> 
> When I use a word that I call “Old Norse,” know that it is Old Icelandic, as there were any number of countries from which the raiders, who came to be known as vikings, went out into the world. In the case of the AU viking Ragnar Lothbrok from this story, who is a Dane, there are too few examples of Old Danish to be terribly useful in writing a story. Most historians and linguists agree on the term Old Norse for the words I use in this story. Skål! (Cheers!)
> 
> dúllan mín - sweetie

Signy was tucked against his side when he woke some time later, one hand atop his belly. She opened her eyes when he shifted.

“How do you feel?” She rubbed her eyes and he realized she’d stayed awake watching him.

“I have to piss.”

“Do you need help?”

“Holding my dick?” He shook his head and tried to rise, misjudged how dizzy he still was and fell back with a groan.

“Are you certain?” She offered him the smug grin that seemed reserved only for when he was at his most idiotic in her presence.

“A cup?” He suggested.

She rose without comment, fetched a cup, then helped him sit so that he could lean against the wall.

She had to help him loosen his trousers when he managed only to fiddle the ties to a knot.

He pissed in the cup she held, then dropped to his back, too exhausted to consider moving.

She was gone long enough to dump the cup outside, then was back to help him get comfortable once more.

“I take it you do not want my farm,” he whispered once he was again beneath the furs.

“Ragnar,” she stopped to shake her head and he wondered what she had thought to say that went now unsaid. “You ought rest,” she finished.

“My head aches.” When had he become so petulant?

“Here.”

She put a small vial to his lips. He drank. The herbed mead again.

She lay next to him then, to stare at the ceiling as he did.

“What is it like?”

“What?”

“To have a man.”

He considered that. “I cannot say. I’ve never had one.”

“But you are one. What does it feel like?”

“To fuck?” He let his head fall to the side to stare at her. “Do you wish to find out?”

She clucked her tongue. “I mean, do you make it feel good? Does it feel good?”

“Signy, my head aches.” He let his eyes drift shut. “I’ve had no complaints. I will show you when I am better.”

“I did not say I wanted,”

“You do not have to, vixen,” he interrupted her. “It has been true since the first night you were here.”

She turned onto her side, body pressed to his. “When you are ready, Ragnar.”

He laughed, the noise soft. “It is when you are, I have said,”

She brushed a kiss across his brow. “Rest. You are not well. And we will never know if you do not get better.”

Despite having questions he still wanted answers to, he drifted to sleep.

***

It was Gyda’s concerned eyes he woke to next.

“Signy says that you may die.”

As a way to wake a man, it left something wanting. He shook his head at her. “Signy is wrong in this, dúllan mín. I will heal.”

She put her hand to his forehead. “You are hot.”

“Little one, do not worry over me.”

“You cry out in your sleep. Bjorn and I hear. Even Blythe can hear you.”

“It is the poison that speaks.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Where is Signy?”

“She and Blythe are out washing bedding. I was to sit here.”

“I am glad that you are here.” He pointed at the table. “There is a small cup. Mead?”

She left long enough to retrieve it. “Signy said to give this to you.”

“You are a good child. Thank you.”

He struggled to one elbow to drink, then lay back, exhausted.

She sat by him on the edge of the bed. “Will you make her your wife?”

“Who, dùlla?”

“Signy.”

“Is it what she wants, you think?” Already the herbs did their work. His tongue felt lazy as he tried the words.

“You watch her the way she watches you.”

“Mm.”

Whatever else his daughter said was lost as sleep overtook him.


	18. Mists of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will occasionally include notes for words and terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader. Please let me know if you would prefer I do not :)
> 
> When I use a word that I call “Old Norse,” know that it is Old Icelandic, as there were any number of countries from which the raiders, who came to be known as vikings, went out into the world. In the case of the AU viking Ragnar Lothbrok from this story, who is a Dane, there are too few examples of Old Danish to be terribly useful in writing a story. Most historians and linguists agree on the term Old Norse for the words I use in this story. Skål! (Cheers!)
> 
> Kenningar - a figure of speech to describe someone in Old Norse, Old Icelandic, and Old English poetry.  
> The kennings below are all attributed to Óðinn in the Eddas.
> 
> Auðun - friend of wealth  
> Draugadróttinn - lord of the undead  
> Hjaldrgoð - god of battle  
> Galdraföðr - father of magical songs
> 
> Galdr - a spell or incantation, thought to have been sung.  
> Seidr - a type of pre-Christian magic, mythically it was taught by Freya to the Aesir, it is both prophecy and a method to shape the future. Thought to be similar to shamanism.
> 
> Hu War Opkam Har a Hit Lot? (Runic - phonetically spelled)  
> ᚺᚢ:ᚹᚨᚱ:ᛟᛈᚲᚨᛗ:ᚺᚨᚱ:ᚨ:ᚺᛁᛏ:ᛚᛟᛏ (above sentence in runes)  
> Who brought the horde over to the far country? (translation)

Ragnar opened his eyes to trees tall as the sky, the trunks as thick around as two men together. He turned in a small circle but nothing looked familiar. Above him the black sky was filled with stars which held no acquaintance.

He grasped his axe more tightly when a wolf howled it’s song somewhere in the mists that curled between the tree trunks, swirled around his boots.

Another voice joined the first and he turned toward it. Then a chorus of wolves sent forth their voices into the night. He shivered.

“Who stalks among the trees of my forest?”

He spun in a circle, axe held before him and at the ready. “Who asks?”

A quiet laugh the only answer to his question.

“I am Ragnar, son of Sigurd Ring, son of Randver.”

He took a few steps toward where he thought the voice came, peering into the mist as he went.

“You are called Lothbrok.”

“Ragnar Lothbrok,” he confirmed. “I fought the beast with wings and fire.”

“I am aware your deeds.”

From the shifting mists came another howl, this one much closer. Ragnar turned toward it.

“Come and warm yourself at my fire, Ragnar, son of Sigurd, son of Randver.”

At the words, the mists swirled and cleared to his right and he caught the glow of a fire.

“Come Ragnar hairy britches, I will not bite, nor will my wolves.”

He stepped forward and into the light.

A man sat atop a log on the far side of the twisting flames of the fire, his shape and face obscured beneath a cloak that dragged the ground around his legs. He gestured at another log.

“Sit, Ragnar. Speak with me.”

Ragnar took a seat atop the log to stretch his hands toward the warmth of the fire. “What name, old man?”

A chuckle at that. “Call me what you will, Ragnar Lothbrok. I go by many kenningar when I travel the worlds. Auðun if it please you, or Draugadróttinn. Hjaldrgoð? Your woman best knows me as Galdraföðr.”

Ragnar shook his head. “I’ve no woman, my wife died two winters past.”

The old man shrugged one shoulder and a raven settled upon it to peer at Ragnar through the flames. “I heard it differently, but you know best, of course.”

“I am dead?”

“Not yet. Do you see me as Draugadróttinn, then?”

Ragnar considered, his gaze on the axe as he traced the leather that wound up the handle. “I would prefer not.”

“Then Hjaldrgoð?” The man leaned forward and the raven fluttered it’s wings in annoyance. “Your wordfame as a warrior grows.”

“And my wealth?”

The man’s laughter raised another chorus of howls from among the trees. “Your star would yet rise, Ragnar Lothbrok, son of Sigurd, son of Randver. You’ve a yearning to know me as Auðun, then?”

From the mists a wolf, white as snow, drifted toward Ragnar. It seated itself by his left leg, slavering jaws open, tongue hanging out. It seemed to grin up at him a moment before turning it’s attention to the old man.

“Tell me, what need have I? That is then by which name I will know you.”

“Your woman sought the songs of galdr and seidr.” He put his hands to his hood and slid it back to expose white hair, one piercing eye the color of Ragnar’s own glinted good humor as he watched Ragnar. “Would you yet disappoint her?”

Another wolf, this one as black as the night sky above seated itself by Ragnar’s right leg. It gave him the same open mouthed grin the first had, then turned to face the old man.

“You are mistaken. I’ve no woman.”

The old man shrugged and a second raven landed on his other shoulder with a flap of its massive wings.

“Am I then to send you back to the arms of a thrall?” He grinned, his one eye narrowing. “Hu war opkam har a hit lot?”

“It was me, old man. I am the one who went to the west. I brought the horde to the far country.”

“And brought back a thrall, foregoing coin for her. Yes,” he cackled, “I can see that you have no woman, Ragnar Lothbrok. Your actions speak it loudly.”

Ragnar rose. “You then mean me leave this place.”

One white brow rose over the good eye that yet watched him, pinned him to the spot. “I think _she_ means you to. Would you yet remain?”

He hesitated in the act of turning away to look over his shoulder at the man. “And did she get what she sought?”

The old man laughed again and lifted his cape. The sky darkened around Ragnar, the mists closing in until even the trees could no longer be seen.

“Óðinn,”

Signy put a cloth to his forehead to wipe his sweaty hair back. “Ragnar?”

His eyelids fluttered. “Vixen? I am dead.”

“You live.”

“Geri and Freki are in the forest.”

She wet the cloth again and wiped his face. “Rest.”

Bjorn tugged the furs higher atop Ragnar.

“He is yet ill, child. Let him rest.”

“He means the wolves of Óðinn.”

She glanced at him, then back to Ragnar’s feverish face. Bjorn nodded to the carvings that circled the chest of Ragnar’s weapons. “You see? Greedy for the corpses on the field,”

“Why would he speak of them?”

Bjorn took a step back from the bed where Ragnar lay senseless once more. “He speaks to Óðinn.”

“Óðinn cannot have him,” she smiled for the tow headed boy. “I will see to that.”

Without a word, he turned and went to where Gyda and Blythe worked at the loom, leaving Signy to tend Ragnar.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will occasionally include notes for words and terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader. Please let me know if you would prefer I do not :)
> 
> When I use a word that I call “Old Norse,” know that it is Old Icelandic, as there were any number of countries from which the raiders, who came to be known as vikings, went out into the world. In the case of the AU viking Ragnar Lothbrok from this story, who is a Dane, there are too few examples of Old Danish to be terribly useful in writing a story. Most historians and linguists agree on the term Old Norse for the words I use in this story. Skål! (Cheers!)
> 
> kærleikr - love
> 
> lyst - lust
> 
> frumverr: First man a woman has sexually

Time progressed slowly. One moment, Ragnar would be alert and aware his surroundings, speaking with clarity to whichever of his household happened to be closest, the next he was lost in a world of gods and monsters, mysteries and magic. And, for him, there seemed little difference.

“Do you treat him as the healer said you must?”

Signy turned a dry gaze on Rollo’s unsmiling face. “Perhaps you prefer tending him?” She offered him the warm and damp cloth she held in her hand. “He pissed the bedding.”

Rollo shut his eyes at that, hands tapping a staccato, yet tuneless, song against the edge of the table. “I would have left you for dead on that land, bitch.” He looked at her, eyes shining.

“Perhaps it good you were not the one nearly speared in half then?” She turned to find Ragnar’s steady gaze on her.

He gave her a wink, then shut his eyes once more. Fever glittered in his eyes, but she knew he listened.

“Why do you tend him?” Rollo’s booted feet came to rest on the edge of the bed.

She knocked his feet away. “He is your brother, show respect.”

He laughed, but let his feet drop to the floor. “Answer me.”

She tossed the damp furs from the bed, then bent to shove Ragnar’s hips to one side. “He showed me a kindness,”

Rollo sat forward to stare at her. “He stole you from your home.”

“He stole me,” she grunted at the weight of Ragnar as she moved him. “From a life of unceasing boredom and beatings. Who am I to mistreat him in thanks?”

“Had you been my thrall, you would not have been given such freedom as he has given you.”

She wiped hair off her face, then slid a dry fur onto the bed. “What freedom, Rollo? Tell me of which you speak, because surely I would know your thoughts on it.”

She climbed onto the bed to shove Ragnar onto the now dry furs.

“He taught you to use an axe, gave you leave to send my thrall to her god. He takes you around because he,” at this he hesitated. “You share his bed.”

“It is no easy thing, I assure you,” she retorted.

“Has he, does he,”

She looked at him, pausing in her work. “Do you mean to ask if he enjoys the warmth of my thighs?” She smirked.

“There was a time he did not,”

“And you are now uncertain of it?” She sat on the edge of the bed to run her hands over her head, stray hairs smoothed back beneath them as she met his gaze.

“I do not,” Ragnar murmured. “I am weary and would rest,”

Rollo rose to tower over her. “See to it that he yet lives. It will be your head should he die.”

Then he was gone.

Ragnar’s hand found her hip. He squeezed lightly.

“Why did you take me around?”

He squinted up at her. “I know not.”

“A well thought out idea then,”

He managed a weak grin. “I like you, vixen. You amuse me.”

“Would that I could bathe you, for you reek, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“You do not have to yet share this bed. The pallet where Blythe rests her head is big enough for two.”

She breathed out a laugh. “The healer came today. Do you recall?”

“No.”

“He thinks you may yet live if the poison does not reach that heart of yours.”

His eyes shut. “Mm, it is good.”

***

It was nearly another week before Ragnar got out of bed under his own power.

He stared into the barrel of water as Signy fetched a cloth with which to wash him. Deep purple circles now lived beneath his eyes. He looked unwell even to himself, though he was, if he thought on it, feeling some better.

The healer had come and cut the catgut, the wound knit together though still red and sore, the streaks that had so sought his heart once more gone back into the wound.

“You are too thin, Ragnar.”

“Feed me then, vixen.”

She dipped a cloth in the water. “Look at me.”

He lifted his head and she wiped his face, smoothing his beard and wiping beneath his chin.

“You smell of the sick bed. I will air it today but it means you must remain up.”

“I can.”

“The fields need harvesting. I will see to it that it is done.”

“Thank you.”

She shook her head at him and rubbed the cloth across his shoulders.

“Rollo is to take the children this night.”

“Hm.” He watched her work in silence a moment. “You have never had a man.”

She paused, then continued soaping his chest. “You know I have not.”

“Twelve was too young,” he agreed. “And the Christ god makes it an evil act so surely none of those men who lived there sought you out.”

She laughed. “I would find out for myself if it is evil.”

She had reached his lower belly. He tensed beneath her ministrations, muscles going taut as she rubbed soap into his skin.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.”

“They used to tell the women who were to be wed that it would hurt. That when a man took her, it would make her bleed and cause her pain. That it wasn’t supposed to feel good as it was a sin and meant only for the having of children.”

“Stories.” He shook his head. “Stories and nonsense.”

She lifted her gaze to him. “So you say. They say otherwise.”

“What do you say, Signy?”

“I find it not to be a sin. You seem to enjoy it and,” she shrugged. “I think it must feel good.”

“Better than when you touch yourself?”

She grinned. “You speak in your sleep, did you know?”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“What is it that I say?”

She moved to wash his back. “That you want me. You have said to Óðinn as much many times now.”

“Hm.”

“You dream me.” She set aside the cloth to work at unbraiding his hair.

“At times.”

“Because you want to bury your cock between my thighs.”

“That certainly.”

“What else?”

“I see you, when I sleep. I see you touch yourself like you did as I fucked her that night.”

“You want to see that.”

“Mmhm.” He dropped his head back to peer up at her.

“Why?” She grinned.

“Because it is you. And because you wanted me, thought of me with kærleikr.”

“How do you know what thoughts I may keep?”

He shrugged. “I just do.”

“I did not call your name. Perhaps I thought of some other.”

“I believe it not.” He lifted his head so she could continue working with his hair. “It is me you think of, vixen.”

“You brought back no thralls from this raid that so nearly took you to your gods?”

“Men. They are kept in town to be sold.”

“And will you have a new one?”

“No. I will have coin for my efforts. I owe you and Blythe coin for your help in our success.”

“I am glad you think of us.”

Her fingers sank into his hair at the base of his skull. He shivered at the touch, earning a low laugh from her.

“It feels good, vixen.”

She poured a bucket of water over his head. “It is lyst you feel.”

He sputtered and turned his eyes up to her as she crossed to stand in front of him and flipped the furs off his lap.

Methodically, she washed him from waist to toes, leaving him erect though she’d not done more than clean him. It was the thought of her, the idea of her body, of being frumverr.

“You want to see it now?” As if she had been hearing his thoughts, the words murmured into his hair as she dried it.

“I, yes.”

“And will it make you want me more?”

He offered her a slow nod.

“You are not well enough.”

“I can watch.” He shrugged. “I am not too unwell for that.”

“Do men touch themselves as well?”

He snorted a laugh. “You amuse me, vixen. Yes. We do.”

“You’ve yet a full day to remain out of your sick bed. You need rest.”

“Watching is restful.”

She offered him a look of pure disbelief. “I doubt that.”

Then she was behind him once more, braiding his hair, the touch of her warm hands as they slipped across the backs of his shoulders doing things, making him weak in a way that had little to do with illness.

And after, she helped him up and into his trousers and tunic as if the conversation had not occurred.

She went about her chores in silence, leaving him to watch her and consider her questions, her thoughts. Her curiosity had started an ache in him but he would not betray the trust he’d gained by taking her without it being her idea, though gods knew he could almost taste the lyst that churned him.

Rollo arrived, made talk about how improved he looked, how pleased Jarl Thorsson was in their success, how the fields were near ready to harvest.

But the ache wouldn’t go away.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will occasionally include notes for words and terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader. Please let me know if you would prefer I do not :)
> 
> When I use a word that I call “Old Norse,” know that it is Old Icelandic, as there were any number of countries from which the raiders, who came to be known as vikings, went out into the world. In the case of the AU viking Ragnar Lothbrok from this story, who is a Dane, there are too few examples of Old Danish to be terribly useful in writing a story. Most historians and linguists agree on the term Old Norse for the words I use in this story. Skål! (Cheers!)
> 
> lyst - lust
> 
> frumverr: First man a woman has sexually

Night. Ragnar had been unable to find sleep as he turned over and over in his mind how it would be taking her, having her as his own, being frumverr. She had gone to bed restless herself, tossing beneath the furs as if stuck by knives.

Just roll over, see if she was awake. No. An oath was an oath. It had to be her. Had to be.

Finally, with a huff, she rolled to face him and his heart missed a beat. He put his arm around her shoulders to let her rest her head on his chest.

“Signy,” what did he mean to say? “You are certain?”

She nodded, lifted her head to kiss next to his ear.

He hummed as the feeling stole through him like strong drink to first heat and then inflame him to his toes.

“Show me, Ragnar. Teach me.”

“You want to have me?”

“Yes.”

The heat of her came to rest half atop him, as if she tried not to touch against the newly formed scar. Her lips were soft, incredibly soft, against his own and he whimpered against her mouth, senses already overwhelmed.

“I hurt you.”

“No.”

He drew her into another kiss to tongue the taste of her out of her mouth.

And she responded, her own mouth hard on his, full of her need. It sang in his mind, shot through him until he could take no more. He moaned into the kiss and lifted her shift up her thighs to plunge his hands between her legs, shoving them apart, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh as if to tear her asunder.

Her hands worked the tie of his tunic loose to send a shiver of longing up his spine and he kissed her harder still, need overriding thought; insistent and demanding. This. This, now.

He tipped his head back and she broke away from the kiss to tongue a sharp line from beneath his ear, down his throat, and nip the pulse that throbbed beneath the exposed skin. All thought fled his mind as his entire body tried to come apart at the feeling.

He drew one finger up between her legs. She was wet, already as aroused as he was, and he slipped two fingers between her thighs, soaking his hand in the process. She lifted her hips to his palm, sank onto his fingers with a moan that sought to turn him inside out. Gods, had any woman ever been so ready?

“Patience,” he murmured against her mouth when she brought it back to his. The lie of it in the way he shook with longing.

“Now.”

“Shh,” he kissed her neck when she dropped her head back at the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of her. “It feels good?”

“Yes.” She rocked against him now. “Ragnar, yes. This, by all the gods, do this,”

He crooked his fingers deep inside her and she moaned and thrust her hips down impaling herself on his hand. His thumb, rubbed circles into her until she growled his name and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

She panted for breath, mouth open against his to gasp as he worked her to frenzy. He felt her stiffen, and groaned with her when her body tightened around his fingers. 

The noise that she made dug into his belly and he lifted his hips with it, pressing up to her.

She pushed his hands away and sat atop his thighs. “Show me how,” the breathless syllables uttered in a voice he barely recognized.

He could wait, would wait. Her eyes were hazy, the pupils huge when she stared down at him, her throat vibrantly pink beneath lips red as flame. Oh, so beautiful. He was coming undone watching her take pleasure in him, giving her a taste of what she could expect next. Yes.

He put his hand over hers to lead her to stroke him the way he liked and she took over, fisting him until he was thrusting into her hand, desperate to finish.

And again, “Show me,” whispered against his open mouth.

He bit the edge of her mouth, then tugged her forward, hands planted on her hips. “You must get on,”

There was no need to tell her twice. She grasped him at the base of his cock to hold him steady and sat atop him, sinking him into her waiting flesh in a way he thought must hurt her.

She made a noise when he bottomed out in her, but it was not of pain and he went weak at it. Fuck, if he didn’t want to. He bit his own lip and tasted blood again but the need receded.

“How?” This a breathless gasp, her voice rising from a low sultry growl to a needy whine as he rocked her hips into his.

Then she was riding him, setting the pace, holding him deep inside herself as once more her body tightened on his, the rhythm an excruciating pleasure that stole his breath away and left him hungry for more. She was slick, wetness seemingly unending where they touched.

He held her atop himself, glided her hips atop his a moment more, savoring the utter mess she had become.

He flipped her to her back and speared her, the motion lifting her up the bed until her head smacked into the wall.

His own end yet tantalizingly out of reach, he ground against her, then pushed one of her thighs up to hold her open.

He bit the flesh where her neck and shoulder met, grunted against her skin as she drew her nails down the center of his spine.

Gods, the heat of her, the tingling that consumed all and pushed him to thrust harder, spurning him to lose all control.

The thought of hurting her faded in the grip she held on him, the feel of her body, the rhythm of response. Something in her let go, the release like alcohol on a fire. It threw him over the edge, and his hips froze as it spilled from him to fill her. The guttural sound of his release shattered the silence.

He dropped atop her, not caring if he squashed her, unable to do more than gasp as the aftereffects rolled through him.

She tugged furs atop them, wrapped him in her arms and legs, kissed the side of his neck and nuzzled beneath his beard until he calmed.

Satiated, eyes half open to stare at her, he drifted atop a feeling of delirious pleasure. He kissed her whenever she drew close enough, breathed in the scent of her until he knew it would remain imprinted on him forever.

“Ragnar?”

Her voice sounded as lazy as he felt.

He raised one eyebrow. “Hm.”

“Do it again,”

He managed a laugh that sounded wild in his own ears. “Mm, later.”

“I want you more.”

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “It is too soon for me, vixen. You must wait a while.”

She buried her face in the hollow of his neck with a little sigh.


	21. Seiðr and safety

He slept in the security of her arms, unaware of anything until she peeled away to rise with the dawn.

He rolled onto his side to pillow his head atop his arm and watch as she moved through the house.

“Signy.”

“What is it?” She knelt before the fire to poke the embers alive once more.

“Before, when you told me about the man in the hooded cloak,”

“Yes?”

“Have you seen him again?”

Her heard her sigh. She prodded at the embers once more, then lifted wood atop them before returning to his side.

He made room for her, smiling at how different she looked to him, how much more sensual each move she made, how smooth her skin.

“You are having thoughts, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Hm, you are a beauty.”

“You asked me about Óðinn. Stop thinking with your cock a moment.”

“You seemed keen on me thinking that way last night.”

She bit her lip though laughter danced in her eyes.

He curled his finger at her. “Come, be with me.”

“You feel better, I see.”

He let his gaze drop across her body before slowing lifting to her eyes. “I would hear you scream for me again,”

She pushed him back when he would kiss her. “Óðinn,”

“I should not have spoken the words.”

“Now you have.”

“Then tell me.” He settled against her to trail his hand up her belly.

“I dreamed you,” her gaze grew dark as she looked at the scar on his chest. “You were far from me in this dream. I felt pain and you were covered in blood.” She caught up his fingers to squeeze them. “When I woke, I sought your gods, the gods of this land. I thought that they would be generous as you, too, are of this land.”

He nodded.

“I asked favor for you. Gave offerings as you taught me.” She glanced at him to see how he took this.

He nodded for her to continue, sketched a kiss across her cheek.

“He answered me. Said it was seiðr I needed should my desire be that your life go on.”

“Vixen,”

She shook her head. “It was in a dream that I sat with him. He spoke of runes and bones, taught me the words I would need to bring you back.” She let her gaze linger on him. “Should I need them. I knew the herbs already, the healing something I learned in my own land.”

“Signy, it is not wrong.”

She looked only the least bit relieved at that. “He said that all things must have a price. The price of your life was,” she licked her lips, suddenly unable to speak and her gaze dropped from his.

“What was his price?” He leaned in to her, lifted her chin so that she looked at him.

“The life of another.”

“What other?”

She shook her head.

“You must tell me, Signy. You must speak it. What agreement with the old man did you make?”

She lowered her head, then whispered the pact. “Blood for blood, bone for bone, so they may be mended. The blood of Lothbrok for the life of Lothbrok, so they may be mended. Son of the son, blood of the one spilled for the other.”

“Why did you not say this to me?” He shook her, realized what he did and let her go to stare at her. “Why did you not say?”

“When? You were going to die, Ragnar. What would you have me do?”

“I,” he struggled to find words, shook his head, tried again. “I am not worth the life of my son.”

“Not Bjorn. Never him.” Her head shook until her hair loosed from the thong that held it and fell across him like a silken blanket.

“Signy,” he pressed his fingers into her arms. He would see the bruises there for a week after. “Signy, I have no other son.”

She blinked at him and bit her lip. “Not yet.”

“You,” his eyes rolled up a moment, “I, we do not have a son. What if never we,” he gestured where their bodies touched. “What if you cannot?” He stared at her.

“I wanted not to lose you.”

“Why ever not?” He laughed and fell to his back. “I am a farmer who raids a few months of the year. I took you on a whim instead of leaving you dead upon the floor.” He laughed again, heard the note of insanity in it and stopped. “I will likely not live long enough to pay back this debt of yours. Every raid is the same. And I have been lucky thus far, but for how long?”

“You will live.”

“And take you to my bed yet still?So that any child got on you is forfeit for my own life?” He took a deep breath, let it out as slowly as he could. “You should have let me die.”

“No.”

He turned his head to look at her. “No? Did you say no?” Did her denial anger him or please him?

“I will not let you die.”

“No, it would seem you will not.” He sighed. “You agreed to a life for a life? The life of a child you have not yet given breath to? I think, vixen, that you have made an unwise decision.”

She blinked at him, and though her face never changed, he saw the flash of pain in her eyes.

“Come,” He drew her down to hold against him. “I thought you felt for me only begrudging acceptance.”

He felt the heat of tears against his chest and slipped his hand beneath her hair.

“No. Signy. It is done. Whatever the agreement it is made and done and you will not weep for the loss. You will face whatever fate this will bear out with your head up. Do you hear me?”

“You are angry,”

“I cannot be angry with you.” He forced her to lift her head. “The choice you made was for me.” He gave her a tiny smile. “I know no other man who can boast such a thing.”

She blinked away tears.

“There, that is better. You are strong, vixen. It is why you,” he left the rest unsaid.

He thumbed the tears from her cheeks, then hugged her tighter. “It may never come to pass.”

They lay together until the sound of Rollo’s horse, the laughter of his children, came from the yard.

“We will rise and there is little need to speak of this, yes?”

She nodded.

“Signy, look at me.” He leaned forward to peer at her.

“What is it, Ragnar?”

“If you are to have this gift from the gods, you will put it to good use.”

“Yes.”

He tossed her dress at her. “Come, we ought be up.”

“You will not send me away for what I have done?”

It worried her. She would not look at him as she spoke the words to the dress in her lap. She was afraid, something he had never seen.

“I will not put you aside.”

She risked a look at him, tentative and yet unsure and he grinned at her.

“We are some kind of trouble, you and I. I can no more think of putting you aside than watching your death if I thought I could avoid it.” He met her gaze. “Perhaps I may understand what you have done.”

She nodded.

“Now come, before Rollo grows tired of waiting and comes in.”


	22. An agreeable annoyance

Rollo sat on the porch with his back to the house, hands busy with honing the blade edge of his axe. Ragnar dropped next to him.

With a sniff, Rollo set the sharpening stone atop his knee. “You reek of her.”

Ragnar remained silent.

“You will make of her a wife?”

“It is at her hand I am healed.”

Rollo shook his head as if weary of the denials. “You must go into town. You must be seen as yet whole and well, brother. Jarl Thorsson uses this as a means to drive your wordfame down. Will you allow that to happen?”

“This raid made him stronger.”

Rollo turned to stare at Ragnar. “He fears you seek to usurp him. Do you not know?”

“I want for myself a winter of good harvest.”

Rollo snorted and Ragnar could see the other man’s jaw twitch with anger.

“Brother, these men are not mine. I can offer nothing more than another season of raids.”

“They could yet be, if it is what you seek.”

Ragnar twisted toward him. “Tell me, would you see Thorsson brought low?”

“He has lived his life.”

Ragnar chuckled. “I see. And why then do you not seek this for yourself?”

“It is to you the men look for guidance, Ragnar. Be not more an idiot than you are so often of late. Or do you not want it? You are content to keep this land and that woman? Or would you have more? There is much more to be had.”

“I will consider it.”

“In the mean time take yourself to town, be seen.”

“Very well. I will go this day.”

“Good.”

Ragnar nodded. “You will come with me.”

“Yes, of course.”

The door opened behind them and Blythe peeked out. “There is porridge.”

Both men nodded and she shut the door.

“Rollo, I will give Signy her freedom.”

“Mm, you suppose it surprises me?” His gaze turned to Ragnar.

“No,” he laughed. “It will surprise her, I think.”

“Brother, whatever this is,” Rollo’s gesture encompassed the house behind them, “do you think it best?”

“It is what the gods brought me,” Ragnar shrugged. “Who am I to deny the fates?”

Rollo stood. “Wed her before getting children on her, it is all I say. You do not want that bitch to bring you more trouble. You have enough with her as it is.” He looked down at Ragnar. “And you have no intention of staying off her thighs. I know this,” he shook his head. “You have that look about you.”

Ragnar smiled broadly. “You say that I may wed her, then?”

Rollo rolled his eyes. “By all the gods, I do not know why, but yes. You have my permission to,” he made a face, “wed the thrall.” He spit in the dirt. “Why I agree, I do not know. You will do a harm to yourself if not, I suppose.”

“She has no father, no family, to seek permission of.”

“Nor to provide the bride price.”

“I care not. I have what I need.”

“Ragnar, father would have thought you mad to do this.”

“You have said yes.”

“Because you will not stop until I do.” He shook his head. “You get what you want because you are too stubborn to do otherwise. And with her, it is a mistake. But a mistake I see you must make yourself. So yes, wed her. Get children on her. Go. Do what you intend, you have my permission, if it ever mattered what I thought.”

Ragnar hopped up, ignored the twinge the movement brought and ushered Rollo into the house.

The family was seated at meal. Signy rose when they entered and started toward the fire to fetch bowls for them.

“Blythe can do it. Signy, come.” Ragnar guided her with his hands atop her shoulders.

“I do not mind,” she protested.

“Signy, now.”

She nodded at Blythe who rose to get Rollo a bowl of food, then Ragnar was pushing her out the door.

He kept pushing until they were halfway to the barn before she dug in and turned to him.

“What is it?” She eyed his giddy smile a moment. “Ragnar, what have you done?”

“I have, I,” he stumbled over the words, tried again. “Vixen, I would see you no longer a thrall.”

She frowned up at him. “I’ve not yet the money to buy my freedom.”

“My life is the price.”

“Ragnar.”

He put his fingers atop her lips. “Listen to me. You could have had my farm at my death, yet you chose to give me my life instead. My life is the price of your freedom.”

“Ragnar.”

“You have no choice, vixen. I no longer own you.”

Her lips quirked. “I have no choice but to be free? Is that the command you give?”

“I,” he thought about that a moment. “Yes. I suppose that it is.”

“Very well. What now do you do with a free woman beneath your roof? Is it not unseemly? A widower and a maiden?”

“You are maiden no longer,” he bumped against her with a smirk.

“I listen to what is said, Ragnar. No free woman ought live beneath a man’s roof lest he her family or her man,” she singsonged.

“Mm, and who speaks this where you hear?” He ran his hands down her arms. “For it sounds much as though you seek to claim me.”

“I could live elsewhere,”

“You’ve no family,” he bumped her back a step. “No one to speak for you,”

“Interesting how in freeing me you have set me another form of servitude.”

“You are allowed your own voice as you have none to speak for you.” He pushed her back again, each small bump taking her closer to the barn. “What would you ask, vixen? You are free to speak as you chose.”

She held his gaze. “To remain here.”

“To remain here, hm? With me?”

She was backed into the barn now and he kicked the door shut behind them, plunging them into the warm half light and the smell of the animals.

“Yes.”

“Not so very long ago you wished to be anywhere but here,” he pointed out. “And that is changed?”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “I find you an agreeable annoyance.”

He smiled down at her. “And I you, vixen.” He brushed his lips across hers. “Come to town with me this day.”

“What for?”

“Rollo is right, I must be seen well and whole. A woman with me is proof I am capable,”

She snickered, then put her hand over her mouth to laugh. He grinned, raised one brow at her.

“Be my wife, Signy. It will solidify your place here. With me.”

She tilted her head to study him. “Tell me, Ragnar Lothbrok, was this all along the point?”

He shrugged. “I like the trouble we are together.”

She rose on tiptoe to kiss his mouth.


	23. No thrall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fullrettirsorð - full penalty of the law. When applied to insults it was basically an honor killing where the insulted could kill the insulter with impunity and the law would do nothing about the killing. Honor was a very big deal in the early Middle Ages.

Ragnar settled onto one of the long benches that ran the length of the room, Signy sat next to him, as Rollo took the seat on his opposite side.

He leaned in to Signy. “I want your eyes and ears, vixen. Watch, learn what you can.”

“What thing do you seek?”

He shrugged against her arm. “I know not.” He sat up. “Bring us ale, Signy.”

She left to fetch them ale. Rollo stretched his legs beneath the plank table.

“You saw the eyes?”

Ragnar nodded, his gaze on Signy’s back. “I did.”

“You did well coming this day.”

“You did well to remind me.”

Rollo chuffed. “Look,”

Ragnar let his gaze shift to the door, where Svein had entered.

“Word takes not long to travel,” Rollo muttered.

“Like upon wings of a raven,” he agreed.

Svein made no bones of his visit, coming directly to their table just as Signy arrived with cups and a pitcher of ale.

“You were said to be quite ill,”

Signy’s brows rose behind him, but she said nothing as she poured for Rollo and Ragnar.

“I am quite well now, Svein. Thank you for your kind words.”

Signy poured a cup and Svein snatched it away from her. She looked to Ragnar and he gave her a single shake of his head. She turned back to fetch another cup.

“Then your harvest will not be lost.”

“Signy would have it in hand were I yet abed.”

Svien’s face went through a contortion that would have been funny if it hadn’t so clearly shown the twisted working of his mind. He turned at her approach to give her body a lingering look. She sat at Ragnar’s side and he poured her cup full.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He grinned, gaze never leaving Svein.

“You bring that thrall about as if her worth equal that of any woman.”

Ragnar opened his mouth to reply but she beat him to it.

“Perhaps not all word from Ragnar’s farm makes town so quickly? My freedom was bought and paid.”

A pinch to her thigh beneath the table silenced her.

“A free woman, Ragnar? And you keep her still?”

“Signy and I are to be wed, Svein. In the spring before the raids.”

Ragnar imagined he could hear the man’s teeth grind together. Svein stared at them a moment, then forced a laugh. Signy was staring at him.

“About time you took another woman, even if this one is a freed thrall.”

“Status of which to base any claim about my brother’s wife pointless.” Rollo’s shoulders rose as he settled himself forward, elbows on the table. “She is a free woman and has agreed to be his wife.”

He felt her gaze travel to Rollo and he pinched her again in warning.

Svein’s eyes narrowed. “I had begun to wonder if you would not take another wife. Perhaps it no longer suited you.”

“As it does not you?” Ragnar replied with a smirk. “I, at least, had a wife before.” He smiled and settled against the wall at his back. “Have you found no woman to settle with?”

Rollo stiffened as Ragnar danced the knife edge of an insult for which Svein could claim fullrettirsorð.

Svein seemed to ignore the implied slight. To be fair, the man had made the first insult, Ragnar may have been able to justify a little fullrettirsorð of his own if he had not cut Svein off.

“Will Jarl Thorsson take the west again in the summer?”

Svein’s attention captured by Rollo’s remark, he dropped his gaze from Ragnar. “Now that your brother lives? Certainly. The sons of Sigurd have a knack for traversing the seas to the west.”

Ragnar’s attention was caught when Signy went stiff at his side. He looked up in time to see Floki as the man all but leapt atop the table.

“Ragnar Lothbrok will wed?”

“Floki, hush.” He lowered his eyes to his cup. “I will and now all know. Thank you saving me the trouble of saying it myself.”

Floki’s slightly unfocused gaze settled on Signy. “Hello.”

She stared up at him and for a moment Ragnar was positive he would have to pinch her yet again. Then she managed to nod and waggle her fingers at the man squatting atop the table. He put his arm around her shoulders.

“Floki can be…impulsive,” he murmured into her ear. “Watch for me,” he smoothed her hair down her back.

She nodded, the reminder apparently enough to send her gaze from Floki to the room once more, allowing him to give his attention to Svein’s parting comment.

“…the Thing in a week.”

He glanced at Rollo’s scowl and wondered what he’d missed. Rollo sat back with a grunt as soon as the sniveling minion was gone.

“Will you?” He asked as he filled his cup once more.

Ragnar shook his head. “Will I what?”

“Bring her and Blythe before the Thing.”

“There is some reason?”

“None save what that little man may make in his mind.” He glanced at Ragnar. “They are to share their knowledge of the west with Thorsson.”

“Oh,” Ragnar’s quiet reply earned a scowl from his brother.

“Is Blythe better?” Floki slid off the table to crouch at it and stare at Ragnar. “How does the girl?”

“She is well.” Mind elsewhere, he missed Signy sit forward.

“She heals. She needs her own kind about her.”

“Signy,”

She shook her head at him. “No, Ragnar. You have seen. She is better because she is not alone.”

Floki looked between them.

“You wish to protect her. Admirable, perhaps but unnecessary. The girl will come to her place in time, no matter if she stays with an unbeliever such as you or not.”

He saw the narrowing of her eyes, saw her take it in mind to speak back and he put his hand over her mouth.

“Not a word, Signy. It is not your place.”

She made a face and shook his hand off.

Floki slid his hand across the table to her. “I would not do her a harm.”

The words surprised even Ragnar, and he let his own hand drop as Signy sat forward.

“She fears this world. How can any man of it ever teach her the right of it? Teach her to survive?”

Floki nodded at her, lifted his hand to her hair, thought better of it and let it rest atop the table once more. “I would see no harm come to her. None has come to you.”

“And yet I can name two handfuls who saw harm, saw death. It was better for them that they die. Better they not try to live where they could not understand. Blythe needs time, Floki. Give it to her and she will flourish.”

Rollo leaned onto Ragnar’s shoulder. “Who is it you have taken as wife, brother?” He murmured the words lest she hear him. “This one is,” a hesitation then, “no thrall.”

“She is not,” he agreed.

Floki stared at Signy with the smile Ragnar associated with one of his spells. He seemed to hang on her every word. “And would her time with me not help?”

“She fears you.”

Floki nodded, patted Signy on her shoulder, then stood to look at Ragnar. “A rumor, Ragnar, that you are a marked man.”

Then he nodded at them and left.

Rollo grunted. “As I said,”

Signy turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Later, vixen. This is not the place.”


	24. Chapter 24

The afternoon in town turned into the trio spending all day and into the evening before they left.

Ragnar rode, Signy settled before him on the mare, and Rollo following behind on his own stallion.

“Why are you marked, Ragnar Sigurdson?”

He kissed the back of her head. “I made it west.”

“And this Jarl wants that for himself.”

He nodded. “He does.”

She smoothed herself against him to rest her head on the front of his good shoulder. “And it is why I saw Blythe’s name on the mouths of many men?”

“It is.”

“And of me?”

“None dare it,” he replied into her hair.

“How can one man be so liked and so hated at once?”

“Am I hated, vixen? Is that what you saw?”

“Envied,” she corrected. “Yet, most men would follow you were you to say it.”

“It is why Thorsson sees a risk when he thinks to look at me.”

“She is a girl, not a woman, Ragnar. This deception you used her in will see her harmed should you not put it right.”

“What would you have me do?” He slipped one arm around her.

“We are to tell this Jarl all that we know, is that not the way of it?”

“It is.”

“Then Blythe’s knowing is no more than the lands where you have already raided.” She rubbed the stitching on the sleeve of his arm. “Then, perhaps they will leave her be, her knowledge already imparted.

“And of you?”

“I am your wife, Ragnar. Jarl Thorsson may ask, and I may speak much, but it is to you that I will share true what I know.”

He nuzzled her neck. “What else would you tell me true, vixen mine? For even Rollo’s dense wit finds much yet unknown in you.” He kissed behind her ear. “And you are not my wife,”

“In all but name,”

He laughed against her. “True.”

“I will help you, Ragnar. I will see you upon that man’s seat ere the next winter falls.”

He breathed in. “Powerful words.”

“It is time you take what ought be yours.”

He felt a tingle at her words, as if the gods listened to their idle chatter and marked it. “I have what is mine, vixen.”

She looked up at him over her shoulder. “You are meant for more.”

He leaned over her to kiss her mouth, his need a spear that sought to tear him apart. “Be with me,” he whispered against her.

“Can you not?” Rollo snarled from behind them.

He chuckled against her head. “What would you have me do, vixen of mine?”

“Find favor with one more powerful than this Thorsson. Gain support for your position and take it.”

“It will be winter soon,” he mused, face still in her hair. “Still, we will talk more of it. And you may tell me what you know,”

“I will show you, Ragnar. I will show you where to go. You will get ships and the men you want with you and you will raid those lands to return more powerful than before.”

“Mm, so you say,”

“So I know.”

***

Back at home, Blythe and the children already slept. Despite the lingering desire in his blood, Ragnar settled at the table with Signy to speak of the future.

“Tell me, why do you want to see me seated as jarl, vixen?” He smiled at her over the rim of his cup. “Is it power you seek from me?”

“It is power I seek _for_ you. This Thorsson has too long ruled. He grows lax and unkind with those who follow him. He threatens, yet sees threats in all. What kind of man is that to follow?”

“None, if it is as you say.”

“And you do not believe it thus?”

He stretched so that his legs rested on either side of hers beneath the table. “I am curious what you see.”

“I see that he has outlived his usefulness, and he carries fear in his heart. He is not worthy any longer, Ragnar.”

“You see much.” He nodded. “Whose alliance would you have me make?”

She shook her head. “When a man cannot speak a problem to his jarl, to whom does he speak?”

He lowered his head, wiped at his mouth with his fingers. “A king.”

“Is there? A king?”

“Yes. There is.”

“Who?”

“Sigfred.”

“You know this man?”

“Mm,”

“Would he come to your aid?”

“For what reason, vixen? I would need more than to oust Thorsson.”

She nibbled her lower lip, something Ragnar found difficult to ignore.

“Do the man some favor,”

“Such as?” He leaned across the table,” eyes dancing with humor. “What favor would I do a king, Signy?”

“You are thinking with your cock again.” She frowned. “Think more of your future.”

He laughed, then kissed her mouth. “What of it?”

“You would prefer to get on my thighs, then? Or speak yet of this?” She reached behind to tug his braid.

He laughed low in his throat, kissed her again. “This now.” He rose. “There is all the winter to talk.”

With a laugh, she rose and crossed to him. “Where does this king reside?”

He tugged her toward the bed. “Forget the king.” He kissed her as he fiddled with lifting her skirts.

“Ragnar,”

“Vixen.”

“Are all men so full of lyst as this?”

“Yes.”

She let him push her onto the bed, laughing when he climbed behind her to bite at her through her skirts.

“Tell me one thing.” She wrapped her arms around him to draw him down among the furs. “Does it ever stop?”

“No.” He climbed atop her, easily subduing her beneath his larger, heavier body.

She smiled up at him. “Good.”

***

The next morning, Ragnar woke with Signy still wrapped in his arms. The feel of eyes on him made him open his own and he found Blythe standing over the bed.

“Master, Floki is here.”

He blinked at her, confused a moment. “What?”

“Floki has come.”

He rose, pausing to tuck Signy beneath the furs. He turned and Blythe spun away from him, but not before her gaze had dropped across him. He smirked, then dug around in the bed until he found his trousers.

The girl was positively red in the face when he strode past her to let Floki into the house.

“Ragnar! She said you still slept.”

He rubbed his head absently. “The sun is not yet up, Floki.”

“No but it will be.”

And that, Ragnar thought, was something he could not argue. He settled onto a chair. “Is there something you want?”

“I came for Blythe.”

“She is yours,”

“Yes. She helped you. I think you have helped her?”

“Signy perhaps,” He shrugged. “She has little enough use for me, that one.”

“Then she can come back to me now.”

Ragnar shrugged. “If that is the way you would have it. Of course.”

Floki leaned toward him. “She still speaks prayers all day?”

“No, not so much anymore. She has become useful. A good part of a household.”

“Good.” He smiled. “That is good. Perhaps she could learn the art of tjara?”

“I suppose.” He inclined his head at his friend. “You would put her to good use, then?”

“Yes. No reason not to, is there?”

“No, no reason at all.” Will you spend the winter building ships?”

“I’ve new ideas, Ragnar. New and better ways, yes.”

“If I bring you payment, how many might you build for me?”

“How many would you need?”

“Say five. For now.”

“What plan have you?”

“It is not yet determined. But I will have need of boats.”

“Yes. Yes.” He nodded. “Then Blythe will learn and I will build.”

“Good.” He rose to find that Blythe already had the few items she owned tucked together into a roll. “You are ready, then?”

She nodded.

“Signy will visit you, yes?”

She nodded once more. “And the children?”

He shrugged. “If they wish it.”

Now she gave him a small smile and a nod. He was glad of it. Perhaps, she would be good for Floki, be useful. He watched as Blythe let Floki take her bundle. Perhaps.


	25. Dark blood

Signy stomped across the yard. Ragnar lifted his head as she drew closer before turning his gaze back to the log before him.

He hefted the axe overhead, then brought it down, splitting the log neatly in two pieces that dropped to either side of the stump. He bent to retrieve the pieces.

“Ragnar!” Anger laced her voice.

He set another log on the stump, then paused to meet her gaze.

“What have you done?”

He leaned the axe on the stump a moment. “Nothing?”

“Where is Blythe, you bastard?”

“Floki got her this morning. You were yet sleeping. Why?” He settled the axe in his hands once more.

“You let her go?” She stopped across from him. “You let her go back to Floki?”

The axe fell once more, the wood sailed to either side of the stump. “Blythe is not my thrall, Signy. You know this. He came to claim what is his by right.”

She gaped at him as her hands curled into fists. He bent, retrieved one piece of firewood, threw it onto the pile, then set yet another log on the stump.

“He will abuse her!”

He sighed, raised the axe again. “It is not my concern, Signy. I have no claim to her.”

“You could not even seek to purchase her?”

He snorted and brought the axe overhead. “And have my own coin back for her? I think not. Have you no other work to occupy your time?”

“I, I, she is fourteen summers!”

“Yes, I know.”

“You would allow a man like Floki to paw your daughter’s thighs?”

He glanced at her. “No.” One brow rose. “Blythe is not my blood, vixen. You will do well to remember it.”

“She is too young, Ragnar. I would not allow it were it Gyda!”

“Nor would I, but it is Blythe.” He gave her a sly look. “You are so cross, is it the time of your dark blood?”

She stomped her foot and stared daggers at him from beneath her brows. He picked up the firewood, retrieved another log.

“Ragnar Lothbrok, you are so witless you mistake honor for air and think you may just lift your chest without putting in the effort.”

He reached out and snatched her by the braid as she spun to leave. “Be not in such haste, vixen.”

He yanked her across the stump. She stumbled into him and he smacked her across the ass.

She bared her teeth at him and punched him in the mouth.

More surprised than hurt, he let go of her with a shake of his head. She tripped over the stump and caught herself with a spin that put her out of the reach of his hands.

He snatched at her again, trying to catch her by the hair once more, but she danced backward and out of his grasp.

“Signy!” Angry now too, he lunged at her.

She skittered out of his range when he would bowl her over, then ran. He gave chase.

“I will catch you, Signy, and I will beat that smart mouth out of you!”

She had a good lead on him and rounded the house as Rollo and Bjorn stepped onto the porch.

“Is this normal?” Rollo asked the boy as they watched Ragnar disappear around the side of the house.

Bjorn shrugged.

Signy was quick, the distance between them lengthened despite his greater size and length of leg.

“I will lock you out, bitch!”

She stopped and spun to face him. “You have no right, Ragnar Lothbrok! I am the mistress of keys of this house by your own say so!”

He caught up to her, grabbed her arm before she could run again, and swept her feet out from under her with his leg. His fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm as she fell and he hoisted her to himself.

“You will speak not another word against me or I will turn you over the fence and beat you in sight of all.”

She snarled up at him, then spit at him.

He shut his eyes a moment before grabbing her face with his free hand.

“Open your mouth.”

She shook her head, still glaring at him.

“Open your mouth or I will do it for you.”

“Fuck you.”

Her hands closed around his arm, the nails digging into his skin until he hissed in pain.

“You will not speak of me in that manner, Signy.” Breathless, each word a growl as he shook her.

She pushed into him and he caught her to lift off her feet once more and hold, one arm firmly beneath her hips so she could not kick him.

They stared at one another in silence, chests heaving, the anger of moments before slipping out of reach. There was no surprise left as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her open mouth to his. Her tongue forced between his lips. With a grunt, he grabbed her hair to hold her still and kissed her harder, the last swirl of anger devolving to desire in an instant against her mouth.

He let go to yank her skirts out of the way, then shoved his trousers aside, lifted her and impaled her on his cock. She howled and threw her head back so he pulled her to him, fingers firmly twisted into her braid to kiss her mouth again.

“Ragnar, yes,”

He cupped her head in his hand, drew her into another kiss.

“It is simpler if you,” he broke off when she drove her hips into his, “if you just ask for it, vixen.”

He lowered his head to her neck and bit, making her arch her back to him. He groaned and bit harder, stumbled and fell to his knees. She shoved him to his back, following to lick his mouth as her hips ground against his.

“Signy,”

Her head dropped to his neck and he pressed his hands to her back, fingers grasping the fabric of her dress to yank it higher.

He huffed out a breath when her feet dug into his thighs as she sought for purchase to drive against him, to force him deeper.

He flipped them over and pushed her thighs up until her legs slipped over his shoulders.

His mind fractured into a million pieces, the only thoughts left were of the way her body gripped him, each thrust greeted with first yielding flesh, then a tightening that left him weak. She panted his name, dug her nails into his back, tried again and again to lift her hips with him, to meet the rabid assault he had become.

And she froze beneath him, her entire body suddenly stiff, eyes wild when their gazes met. He saw the single twitch of her lips before her head dropped back into the dirt and she stretched beneath him, lifting him off the ground as orgasm tore through her. She nearly shrieked in her release, a string of obscenities interspersed with his name the only words she seemed capable of uttering.

He realized he had been chanting his own obscenities beneath hers, the keen edge of his pleasure driving a knife into his belly until, with a shout that echoed off the trees, he released in long spurts that filled her until it dripped from her.

He fell off her to gasp for air, utterly spent yet still strangely still filled with need of her. Her hand came to rest on his chest, to tug at the ties of his tunic, though he could hear her panting with him.

“Do it again, Ragnar Lothbrok.” She rolled so that she was looking down at him. “Make me yours,”

The tingle that started at her words shot from the ends of his hair to his crotch and he drew her atop himself to kiss.


	26. Chapter 26

“You mean to do this?”

Ragnar leaned against the wall of the tub with a sigh as the waters closed over him to his shoulders. “I do.”

Rollo settled across from him with a shake of his head. “I had hope that wintering with her would change your mind.”

“Nothing would change my mind, brother.” He let his head drop back. “She carries my child.”

“She carries your child?” Rollo repeated the words, though he surely could not be surprised at that.

“Yes.” He grinned. “A son, she says.”

“Ragnar,”

“I know, she should not know but I trust her in this. She knows things,”

“And what of the raids? If you’ve a new child,”

“We will raid. We must. Floki has built us boats and we will go.”

“What men will you choose?”

“Help me in it, brother. Those who are trustworthy, who wish to see more.”

Rollo nodded. “I will.”

“Good,” Ragnar laughed. “Because after the mundr, I am left with no coin. Floki has most of it for the building of those boats.”

“You are foolish.” Rollo shook his head. “If we fail,”

“We will not fail.”

“If we fail, you will be ruined.”

“We will achieve glory. Our wordfame will grow and we will gather to us enough riches and men to change this town for the better.”

“I hope you know what you are doing.”

Ragnar offered him a grin. “Always.”

Rollo shook his head. “Never, some would say.”

“Have I yet been wrong?”

Rollo’s head shake and sigh were answer enough. “Finish, you must yet prepare for the day.”

With a nod, Ragnar sank beneath the waters.

***

He met Signy outside the bathhouse, still damp and glowing from her own ritual cleansing.

He felt the smile that the sight of her still brought to his lips. She returned it.

“You are lovely,”

Her smile grew as she touched his chin, stroked his beard. “Orlaith tells me that next we are to stand before Jarl Thorsson and exchange mundr and dowry. I have nothing to bring to this, Ragnar.”

He nodded. “You bring yourself, vixen. I need for nothing more in way of a dowry.”

She looked ready to argue, her brows knit together, then she merely shook her head at him. “No wonder your brother finds you crazy.”

He chuckled. “If it is the case, then so be it. I’ve little care for what others think.”

Her smile was back. She leaned up and kissed him. “We go to town?”

“Yes.”

She closed her fingers around his as he led her toward the waiting mare.

He lifted her onto the horse, feeling how her waist had begun to change with his child in her. A boy. A son. His son.

He climbed astride behind her and they were off. Orlaith and Rollo would have already taken the children to town. Part of him wanted to yet remain on the farm, to ignore all the ritual and feasting that the day would bring.

***

It seemed no time until they were standing before Thorrson on the steps to the longhouse.

“You have the mundr?”

Ragnar nodded and dropped a leather pouch into the other man’s hand.

“She comes with no dowry of her own.”

It was not really a question and Ragnar did not consider it as such. He merely shrugged.

“I have this,”

His head snapped toward her as she held out her own small pouch.

“It is perhaps not what would be usual, but it is what I have.”

If Thorsson were surprised, he hid it better than Ragnar. He took the pouch and nodded to her. Her lips lifted into the smile he’d come to know as sarcasm, though she didn’t turn her gaze to him. He breathed out a small laugh.

“All here witness that Ragnar has paid the mundr of twelve silver pieces and Signy has brought dowry.”

A cheer went up from the crowd that surrounded them. Now she grinned at him. He shook his head, though his smile was firmly in place.

Thorsson stepped aside and the old seer took his place.

“Ragnar Lothbrok, son of Sigurd. You bring today a woman to wed.”

“Signy, daughter of Coel has agreed to wed.”

The old man nodded. “Signy Coelsdottir and Ragnar Sigurdson, the gods require sacrifice for this union.” He gestured and two men dragged forth a sow. “Your woman carries your child, Ragnar. She will make the sacrifice.”

Signy took the offered knife, then waited while the sow was brought before them.

The seer nodded at her. “We ask the gods attention this day as a son of Óðinn seeks the wed from across the seas. Óðinn, Thórr, Freyja, and Freyr, we ask that you grant favor on this couple and the sacrifice made at her hand.”

For a moment, Ragnar was certain that Signy would be unable to kill the sow, she looked sick at the prospect. Then, she bent and drew the knife across it’s throat. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering them all and the seer nodded.

“Good, child.”

Ragnar took a bowl and filled it with blood, then offered it to the seer.

The old man took the bowl, dipped a bundle of fir twigs into it and sprinkled blood across both Ragnar and Signy.

“The blessing of the gods upon you.”

Ragnar drew his sword, then knelt and offered it to Signy. “I offer you my protection, Signy Coelsdottir. I offer you my sword.”

She took it, then touched his shoulders so that he rose. Gyda took the sword and gave her another. Now she knelt, gaze up on Ragnar. “I offer my protection, Ragnar Sigurdson. I offer you this sword.”

He took the sword from her and she rose. The seer nodded at them.

“From these two, one. This union creates a circle within which family and children will grow. To the gods you have made offering and from the gods you receive blessing. You offer protection within the circle and so you shall give to each other the sign of that circle.”

Ragnar turned to Signy. He set a ring on the hilt of his sword and offered it to her. She took it, slipped it onto a finger, then did the same for him.

“The price has been exchanged. The gods appeased. These two are now one.”

Cheers erupted around them. He met her slightly dazed gaze with a smile.

“A feast in honor of Ragnar and his woman!” Thorsson shouted.

***

The inside of the longhouse was already hot, the fires burning high. He led her to a chair, then stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.

“Ragnar,”

“It will be done soon,” he murmured against her hair. “Then we may go outside.”

She nodded.

“Your woman seeks a strong man, Ragnar Sigurdson. In you she ought always find the strength of Thórr.”

With a smirk, he lowered the large wooden Mjolnir into her lap to cheers from the crowd.

“You have it already, no?” He whispered in her ear and heard her low laugh in reply.

“Vár witness this feast and watch over this couple as they begin life together.”

He crossed before her, then took a seat by her side. The seer handed Signy a kåsa of mead. She turned to Ragnar and he made the sign of Thórr over it.

“Óðinn, your son offers you mead upon his wedding day.”

He sipped, then handed the cup back to Signy.

“Freyja, a daughter seeks to give you offering of mead on this, her wedding day.”

She sipped, gaze locked on his now.

Thorsson rose. “Ragnar Sigurdson and Signy Coelsdottir have made agreement before all here that this union is now binding. Feast!”

He leaned to her to press his head to hers. “It is done. Does it feel different as a wife?”

“Does it feel different to you?”

He grinned against her cheek. “It will.”

She smiled. “Now what?”

“Now we eat and drink until we are too drunk to stagger home. Six will see us home, witness that the union is made on your thighs.”

She made a face. “Really?”

With a laugh, he kissed her. “Yes. They do not have to stay, only long enough to see that we will.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a lot of life happen in the past few days and have been remiss in adding chapters here. I apologize and want to let you know that it may be a little while between updates until I get things situated out here. Thanks for reading along with me!

Dawn had only begun to color the sky. He settled into the furs, seeking her warmth.

“How do you feel this day, Ragnar?”

Ah. She’d risen to see to the fire. He curved a finger at her. “Come find out.”

Her smirk set him aflame and he rose far enough to yank her onto the bed.

He kissed her, drew her atop himself.

“Better, I take it.”

“Hm.”

He kissed her on the cheek as she passed. “You feel good?”

“I am hung over, Ragnar Lothbrok. I want to vomit.”

“Food will help.”

She groaned but rose with him to dress, then start porridge.

“Mm, give me the spoon.”

She handed him the stirring spoon. He saw it come over her face, her eyes narrowed and her lips turned down, then she was running past him and out the door as Rollo entered.

He shook his head at the porridge, listened until her heard her vomit in the yard somewhere.

“Is she ill?”

“The child does it to her. Or perhaps the mead.”

Rollo sighed and poured a cup for himself. He grimaced when the sound of her retching came again.

“Brother,”

“She will feel better after.”

Bjorn sat at the table, shadowed by Gyda. Ragnar hugged both their heads to his chest, then spooned bowls for everyone.

“Eat. I will be back.”

He left the house to wander to the lake. He squinted at her, his own head roiling from drink.

“Vixen?”

She groaned, then spit.

He sat next to her. “Better?”

“No.”

“You’ve nothing more in your belly save that child. You must feed you both.”

She groaned again as she settled next to him. “Food makes me want to vomit.”

“Will this go on until the child comes?”

She shook her head, then rested it against his shoulder. “I would know?”

“I had hope you would,”

“I do not. You have two children.”

“Lagertha never did this.”

“Not a way to make me feel better.”

He chuckled. “I suppose it is not.”

“Orlaith told me that it is this way for some women. Something about the father,”

He slid his arm around her. “I am to blame?”

“You think you are not to blame?”

“No.” He turned to gaze at her. “I know, I mean. Yes. I am the father. It was meant to be funny.”

“I know, I like to see you squirm.”

He grinned at her.

She shifted so she could rest beneath his arm. “What of the raids this summer?”

He let his gaze drift to the water. “Soon, vixen. Already, men are prepared.”

“And Thorsson?”

“Knows nothing.”

She smoothed her hand down his thigh. “This king Sigfred, what of him?”

He remained silent, one hand absently stroking her side, the other palm down on his thigh. He felt her breathe out and sink further into him. When he glanced down at her, she had her eyes closed. He knew she wasn’t sleeping.

“You will no longer wear this when you are earl?” She touched the band at his wrist.

“No. Others will wear mine.”

She lifted her head. “Is it what you seek, Ragnar?”

One side of his mouth rose in a smile. “Power? Yes. I would be earl.”

He smiled when she kissed the edge of his mouth. “Then go, do what you must and return in triumph.”

“I will.”

***

Rollo found them asleep in the piles of ropes and nets at the edge of the pier.

“Ragnar.” He kicked his brother awake.

With a groan, he opened one eye to peer up. “Leave me,”

“You will be at Floki’s?”

Ragnar waved one hand dismissively.

“You are certain?”

“Yes. Yes, yes.” He let his arm drop atop Signy. “Leave me,”

“Before midday.”

He groaned and buried his face in her hair.

“Useless,” Rollo muttered as he strode away.

He breathed in the soft scent of Signy, letting it fill him before sighing out gently.

“I would go with you,”

“You are awake,”

“Mm. I have not seen Blythe in too long.”

“Floki has said she may remain here while I am gone, to help you.”

“Hm,” she rolled in his embrace. “You think I need help?”

“This baby,” he began.

She nodded. “It is a kind thought, Ragnar. That is all.”

He felt the smile that lifted his lips. “The words are thank you, vixen.”

She smiled at him and he saw how exhausted she really was.

“Come, you must eat and I must be at Floki’s.”

He helped her to her feet, then hugged her.

“What is this for?”

He brushed his lips across her hair. “You.”

“A strange man, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Who wed equally strange. Now come, I will see you eat before I go.”

He plied her with fresh fruit, cheese, and bread, but imagined she ate only to please him and not out of any real desire for the food. It worried him. By now she ought to be growing his son, and her body did change, but she was so often sick, so often incapable of eating.

He would send Orlaith to her as well. Yes. That would reassure him of her health while he was gone. The women would care for her in his absence.

“You smile. Why?”

“Thinking of you.”

“I believe it not.”

He shook his head. “Believe what you wish, vixen. My thoughts are ever with you.”

Now she smiled, even her eyes glowed with it.

He went to her, bent and kissed her mouth, his hand behind her heavy hair to hold her to himself. “I will miss you,”

“And I you. Return to me soon so that your son will know you.”

He smiled at her, mouth yet touching hers. “He will not yet be born ere I am returned to you, vixen.” He kissed her again. “You have my word.”


	28. Chapter 28

And yet, he twitched with each swell of the waves as they crossed the sea. He bid Rollo eat of the berserker’s food to ensure each fought won. And he dreamed horrible dreams each and every night from the moment they set sail.

And each dream was the same. Yet different.

Signy featured nightly. Dead. Alive. With child. Without. Each night his mind created some new torture for the woman who carried the life he put there, carried his son in her.

In short, he fretted and was inconsolable as worry built bit by bit. Rollo and Floki took to plying him with heavy meads, laced with herbs, to help him sleep. They did not understand his worry, of course, but they understood that he was coming apart with every moment spent off Danish soil.

He was a mess, and they knew it.

Late one night, after the others slept in a sprawling estate they’d taken only that day, Floki crept to Rollo with his worries.

Ragnar slept near the fire, constant motion as he tossed and turned. Rollo had taken to sitting with him each night, if for no other reason than to keep the worry from spreading.

“How does he?” The wiry man asked as he took a seat next to Rollo.

“He sleeps.”

Floki fixed his strange eyes on Ragnar’s form. “It is Óðinn’s will.”

“What do you mean?” Rollo snapped, patience at an end with the entire raid, and especially with Floki’s stories of the gods. “He worries over his wife. That is all.”

“Hm, I don’t know.” Floki looked up and then back at Ragnar. “I believe that Óðinn has whispered death in his ear.”

“What?” Rollo scoffed, spit as if to deny the very gods themselves. “He worries over her, over the child.”

Floki smiled at his own fingernails. “The witch made a deal with the gods. Her first born for her lover.”

Rollo’s teeth ground together audibly. “Ragnar would never have allowed it. I am weary, Floki. If you have worthy words, then speak them. Otherwise, get from me before I find your neck with my axe.”

Floki nodded. “He makes you berserker. I have seen. Too much is not good, Rollo. He will do whatever he must to ensure the safety of those he loves.”

“I am his brother.”

Floki looked up at him, expression blank though his eyes shone. “Yes. You are.”

“He has other children. It is merely worry. Nothing more.”

Floki nodded. “He loves you, but he loves her more.”

Rollo smacked Floki in the mouth, causing the other man to draw away with a frown.

“You will see, Rollo. It is as I say. Óðinn speaks to my heart on such matters. And Ragnar’s woman made this deal for his life. You will see.”

And with that, he was gone. Rollo sighed and tried to make himself comfortable.

“It is truth,”

Ragnar’s eyes glittered in the firelight as he stared at his brother.

“You should sleep.”

“Signy gave a deal to Óðinn, brother. Floki speaks truth.”

Rollo rolled his eyes. “You are as addled as he, brother. Rest now.”

“Stop trying to drug me.”

“I ought say the same to you.”

“But you do so willingly, brother.”

Rollo grunted. “Because I would see us returned in victory. You have gone mad.”

Ragnar’s eyes flashed. “Rollo, I love you. Can you not try to understand what this may mean?”

“What deal did she make?” He made no secret of the sigh.

Ragnar ignored it. “She sought Óðinn with prayer. She gave the life of our first born son for my life. You see? A life for a life. I meant enough to her that she did so,”

“When? As you lay ill in your bed? When she was yet your thrall?”

Ragnar nodded and nibbled at his fingernail. “Yes. It is why I freed her. She more than earned it, do you not agree?”

Rollo snorted. “I am glad that you lived, brother. And, I am glad that you made of her your wife. I am not so glad that you believe she made some deal with the gods to save your life. It is trickery. Or it is magic.”

“She carries my child. You think I ought not worry?”

“Do you worry that she is pregnant and you are not there? Or do you worry that she will lose the child and blame you for it?”

That silenced Ragnar a moment. “Surely Óðinn would not take the child at birth?”

“By the gods, brother. You are mad. She has made you mad. And you do nothing to stop it. I will be glad when we are shut of these shores and back on Danish soil. If for no other reason than your crazy will be hidden once more upon the land of your home and your farm. Do you hear how you sound? Can you hear what you say at all?”

Ragnar’s head drooped. “I am sorry, Rollo. I know it has not been easy this time. But you will see. When we return. Much will yet change.”

“Hm,”

And with that, Rollo settled against his bedroom and closed his eyes, the conversation over.


	29. Chapter 29

Ragnar knew the men worried over him, thought him addled or worse. Yet, nothing seemed capable of freeing his mind from Signy long enough to capture his attention for more than a moment. Fretfulness had turned to outright worry, and then low level panic before the ships sailed for home once more.

It was not until Kattegat was within sight that he relaxed at all. The town still stood. That eased the worry that fire had taken all from him.

He was the first off a boat, splashing through the water as if the draugr were after him. He ignored the townsfolk out to herald their return and practically sprinted through the crowd.

“Ragnar!”

He stopped in his tracks when Blythe’s voice rang out. He turned to look at her as the blood drained from his head. Weak and dizzy, he met her gaze.

“Ragnar, Signy was delivered of a son.”

“I have a son?” His voice cracked on the words. “And Signy?”

“Ragnar,”

“They are alive, Blythe. Tell me they are alive.” He grasped her by the arms and shook her lightly. “Yes?”

“Signy lost much blood.”

“They are alive.”

She nodded, unable to say more in the face of his plea.

He kissed her, then spun and ran.

If it weren’t for Rollo nearly running him down, he would have sprinted the entire way to the farm.

“Brother, come. There are horses.”

Horses. Yes. Faster. He let Rollo turn him from his goal long enough to mount up. Then he was on his way with Rollo left far behind.

Orlaith was standing on the porch when he leapt from his mount.

“Signy?”

“Ragnar, she is unwell.”

He shook his head, panic insisting that a lie. “What do you mean? She had our son?”

Orlaith put her hands on his shoulders to stop him. “Your son was born early, Ragnar. Too early. He lives but he is weak. Signy cannot nurse and so another does for her, but the child barely eats.”

“Where are my children? I want to see my children. _All_ of my children.”

Orlaith’s gaze shifted to Rollo who put an arm over his shoulders to draw him away from the house.

He fought but Rollo held him back.

“I must. Where are my children? Where is Signy?”

“Brother,”

“No! I will see my family!” He shoved Rollo, then stalked past Orlaith and into the darkness of the house.

“Gyda! Bjorn! Come, I have returned!”

“They are in the fields, Ragnar,”

Her voice sounded so frail. He crossed the room in four steps and settled on his knees at the edge of the bed.

“Signy.”

Even in the candle light, she was too pale to his gaze. She looked drained of blood, drained of life. He stroked her hair off her face.

“I am home, Signy.”

Her lips rose in something like a smile. “I have missed you.”

“Missed me, vixen? Surely not. But what is this that our son is come?”

Her lids closed. He fancied they looked purple.

“Signy? Where is our son?”

“Just there.”

And yes, at her side lay a small bundle. Had Gyda or Bjorn ever been so tiny?

“I would not let them take him to the well until you had seen him.”

“He will not go, Signy. Not our son.”

“The gods will take him.”

He lifted the bundle, realized he could have done so with one hand, and gentled aside the blanket.

The little body was fully formed but so small that Ragnar could hardly believe it.

“I was not here, Signy. He does not have rights,”

“You were not to be expected here, Ragnar. Not so soon. Now you are here and have seen the child.” She met his gaze. “What rights shall he have? He will not survive.”

“He will. He is our son, vixen. Yours and mine and I say he will survive.”

“And suffer. I cannot even nurse him.”

“We will have a woman come to do so. And to care for him as you heal.”

“Ragnar.”

She sounded exhausted and done with him. He smoothed his index finger over the babies head and was surprised when the little one lifted his fists.

“He will be a fighter.” He grinned at the baby. “Eirik or Gunnar. You think?”

“I think he will not survive, Ragnar. It is as Óðinn wills. This child belongs to him.”

He knew it unkind to ignore her, but he would not be swayed by her words. He had a new son. Not yet a strong son but he would see to it that the child grew healthy.

“Who nurses?”

“There was a woman in town, lesser born. She had a child recently. It is her who gives our son milk.”

“Why is she not here, wife?”

“Ragnar,”

“She will live here until this child is weaned.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “He will survive, vixen.”

“As you say then,”

That she gave in with no fight spoke to how truly ill she must be. It sobered him but didn’t deter him from his course.

He strode to the door. “Orlaith, send for the woman who nurses my son. She will live here now.”

“I will take you to town,” Rollo offered.

She nodded.

“Return Blythe as well, if Floki allows it.”

Rollo shrugged. “I saw him greet her, Ragnar. I think he will not be agreeable.”

He gave a nod, distracted still by the miracle of his new son. “Of course. Perhaps bring something to nourish Signy as well. She must mend.”

That said, he returned to the house.

“Vixen, have you yet seen the sun? You are too pale.”

“What?” She shook her head at him. “Have you gone mad?”

“You are not getting what you need, vixen. You must have light and air and the warmth of the sun to strengthen you.”

He offered her the child and she took him to rest against her belly. “It is too dark and the air is not fresh.”

He busied himself with propping open the door, then returned to her side.

“Can you rise?”

“For a little time. It exhausts me and I fall.”

“Then I will carry you.”

“Carry me where, Ragnar Sigurdsson?”

“The yard.”

She shook her head at him when he scooped her into his arms.

“Ragnar, you have gone mad.”

He caught the tiny smile that lifted the corners of her mouth and he kissed one. “I will make you well, Signy. Trust me?”

The smile lit her eyes this time. “I ought not, Lothbrok.”

“But you do and it is all that I ask.” He carried her to the porch. “See how beautiful a day.”

She squinted. “It is very bright.”

“How long have you lain in that bed, wife?”

“Mm, he came eight night ago now.”

“Too long. Come, we will sit together.”

He toed a chair into the sun, then deposited her onto it before grabbing one for himself.

“Eirik or Gunner for him?”

“Which do you prefer?” Though dark circles shadowed her eyes and face, she was smiling at him.

He lifted the child once more to peer at him. “He looks to have pale hair.”

“Yes.”

“Eirik, I think.”

“Ragnar, meet your son, Eirik. Will you take him to town and proclaim him yours? Give him his name?”

“I will and you will accompany me.”

“I am not well.”

“I have said I will make you well, Signy. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brain dump on Norse birth customs.  
> Customs stipulated that neither the mother nor the father traveled away from home in the month before birth, as the mother must give birth at home to appease the gods (and probably everyone else).   
> The father was always in the room at birth. There was no excuse for him not to be and it mattered, as a child’s rights as a human were from the father. A child born without the father present didn’t have rights as a human. This was so important that for the month prior to birth, a father was exempt from any duties that took him out of town.  
> It was the father who named a child after nine days. Names were chosen for a variety of reasons but not usually because someone else was named it or they liked it…more like, the name was special for a god or might provide the child with good fortune.   
> Children born with obvious deformities or who were too small to be viable were put in a ‘well.’ This was a dry well, more like a deep hole in the ground. If the town didn’t have a well, the child was left to the elements. It was seen as a mercy for the child and as a way to return the child to the gods.  
> Children slept with their mother (and therefore their father) for something like four years.   
> During the first year, the mother literally carried the child strapped to her side everywhere she went. It makes sense as women were usually up and back to their duties within a week of giving birth. Also, it was easier for a mother to see early signs of illness in a child she had with her 100% of the time.  
> Vikings didn’t have cribs or cradles or bassinets, at least no trace of any have been found, so it is assumed a child slept with the parents until it was old enough to manage sleeping alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Editing the current historical novel and dealing with some family issues pulled me away from Ragnar and Signy's story Recently. I am out of chapters right now.
> 
> I will continue to add to this but it may be a few days. Sorry for the delay.


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